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Page. 

Annie Selwin 38 

A Sketct from Life 43 

A Leaf from the Heart 54 

Attendant Angels 71 

A Lion for ten minutes 90 

Alice Bourne 94 

A Voice from Home 107 

At Evening 110 

A Song of Summer 1 23 

Autographs and Autography. .158, 175, 

190, 206, 222, 238, 255, 270, 286, 302, 

318, 334, 350 

Allan Moore 182 

A Ballad 199 

Ashenputtel 211 

Acrostic 214 

A Memento for the Lonely 231 

A Five Hour Fresh Water Bath.. 231 

A Madrigal to Love 231 

Address to the Muse 246 

Autumn Winds 254 

An Angel in the Clouds 259 

Australia 295 

Amie 295 

A Song 299 

Annie May 311 

Autumnal Musings 315 

Autumn 323 

A Maiden's Tears 333 

AutumnMusing 391 

By the Brook 23 

Birds 39 

Blue-Eyed Clara 135 

Be Active 187 

Boarding vs. Housekeeping 330 

Beauty's Offering ; 342 

Blind Child 362 

Blow the Horn, Hunter 391 

Childhood 23 

Castle Building 43 

Carrie Lee 62 

Covenanters' Hymn 78 

Cling to the Rock, Boy 142 

Corrinne Almanza, a Novelette, . . 146, 
162, 178, 194,210, 226, 243, 258 

Conclusive Evidence 151 

Consolation 294 

Caspar Isle 298 

Christos, a Poem 359 

Death at Sunset 75 

De Soto 91 

Death of the Righteous 91 

Day followeth Day 123 

Divine Love 219 

Don't give up the Ship 262 

Daniel Webster at Home 327 

Death of Webster 3,37 

December 375 

Daniel Webster as a Man, a States- 
man and a Jurist 398 

Ella 43 

Evening 54 

Edgar Randolph 86 



Page. 

Edith Stanfield 166 

Eddy and Willie 299 

Friendship 23,414 

Filling up Gaps 103 

Fear 118 

Fain would I die at Sunset 135 

Fanny Farley 234 

Farewell 279 

Faith in Death 359 

Freedom's Avatar 374 

Gen. W. Scott 74 

Grace Richmond 106 

God keep my Memory pure J07 

Good-By 142 

Guilt and Retribution 186 

Good-By, Mama 263 

Hearts' Secret 2, 17, 34, 50, 66, 82, 

98,114, 130 

Hope on ! Hope ever 27 

Humble Worth 71 

Her I left behind me 238 

Here in the silent Shadowings ... 330 
Hymn to the Stars 358 

I've been to the Woods./. 38 

IsabeUa /. 70 

In the Shade 110 

I am not Lost 150 

I met her in theFestire Crowd. . . 183 

I do not ask for Fane or Wealth . 243 

I stiU Live 326, 336 

I miss thee. Love 390 

Juan and Jola../ 119 

Joy amid Sorroy 215 

Jack Frost / 406 

Love and Affection 14 

Look on the Sunny Side 43 

Lines on thedeath of Hon. H. Clay 71 

Letters 71 

Lilly BW 106 

Lines to Emma 107 

Liberty vl Love 118 

Lines../. 123 

Lines tpNature 139 

Love 142 

Lines to a Streamlet 151 

Lines: 203 

Lov^concealed 203 

Life 214 

Leonora to Tasso 21 5 

Lines 235 

L/ttle Eva 250 

Louis Summerfield 250 

Life's Dark Hours 299 

Lines to Webster 331 

Leonora 343 

Last Look on Nature 375 

Matthew Alwin 10 

Mr. Bumble's Family 46 

Mark Warland 68 

My Hairy, O 57 



Pag«. 

My Childhood's Hours 86 

Musings 110 

Myrria 110 

My last Moment 135 

My routhful Days 166 

My Sweet Rosabelle 166 

Mosquitoes 231 

Jfy Answer 270 

Musings 295 

Modesty 315 

Memento Mori 318 

Mount Ida, Troy, N. T 391 

Memento Vivorum, a Story 406 

Napoleon 326 

November 346 

On the Fourth of July 14 

Our Ship 22 

On leaving Hartford 23 

O breathe one wish for me 22 

O come not to me 70 

Ode to America 71 

One Short Year 234 

October : 243 

O give me back my snnny SmUe . 247 

Obscurity 259 

Presumption 75 

Queen Luna 126 

Remembrance 6 

Reformation 46 

Religion 230 

Remembered Ones 283 

Rhyme of the Autumn Rain 414 

She sleeps in the Convent Yard . . 26 

Summer Eve 27 

Sonnet 39 

Stanzas 46 

Summer Boarding 55 

Song 103 

Sorrow 138 

Silvia Mazzani 138 

Shadows of the Past 166 

Sadness 167 

Surrender of Troy 174 

Sonnet to Luellaceine 199 

Spirit 218 

Sonnet to Luellaceine 247 

Stanzas 267 

Shades of Evening 261 

Song to Night 339 

Story of a Genius 374 

Song of the Pilgrim of the Alps . . . 403 

The Lazzaroni 6 

The Indian Maiden 7 

The Literary Wife 14 

The Two Carpenters 22 

The Four Acre Lot 23 

The Royal Favorite 26 

To the Estranged 27 

The Visit 30 

To a Bride 39 



Page. 

To Anna 42 

The Haunted Man 42 

To a Friend 46 

The Three Dollar Bill 51 

To Mrs. E. Chandler 55 

The Lone Heart. 55 

To a Friend on her Birthday. ... 55 

The Poet's Dream 58 

To a Rosebud 59 

ToaKiss 59 

The Woods 74 

There is a God above 75 

The Victim of Temptation 75 

To Mrs. Augusta Eaton 75 

The Young Philosopher 78 

The Lass of Sachem's Head 78 

Tripping Down the Lane 90 

The Past ■■ ■ . 90 

The Death of Miss Susan Oakes . . 91 

Time is Money 91 

The Sea Shore 102 

The Polish Slave 102 

The Evening Star 103 

The Prayer of the Mariner's Wife 122 

The Young Husband 122 

To the Absent One 123 

The Miner of the Hartz 126 

To the Obelisk at St. Peter's, 

Rome 126 

To-morrow 134 

The two Silk Dresses 134 

The Yellow Domino 135 

The Man of Taste 135 

Tribute to H. W. Longfellow 139 

The Anniversary of our Freedom . 142 
Travels in Palestine 142, 158, 174, 

190, 206, 222, 238, 254, 270, 286, 302, 
318, 334, 350, 366 

The Soul's Convoy 150 

The Rescue 160 

The Summer Time 150 

The Prince of Ayesha 151 

The Dying Girl 155 

The Broken Tie 158 

This Auburn Tress 170 

The Colonel's Legacy 179 

Turkey and the Turks. . .171, 183, 199, 

215, 230, 247, 267, 278, 295, 315, 326, 
343, 358, 378, 394, 402 

The Twilight Hour 183 

The Suitor to his Mistress- 187 

The Departed 188 

Think of me 190 

The Artist's Bride 198 

The Lonely Heart 199 

Thou art gone to thy rest 202 

The Cave of St. Andrew 202 

The Two Homes 203 

ToLydia 206 

The Smile of one we love 214 

To Autumn 214 

The Christian to his Soul 215 

The Old Alchemist 218 

The Red Wig 219 

The Sovereign of the Seas 222 

To the Evening Wind 230 

Thoughts 231 



Page. 

The Aged 235 

TheMagicRing 246 

The Light of the West 259 

The Happy Mistake 262 

The Fall of the Leaf 266 

The Secret Sign 266 

The Mameluke, a novelette. .274,290, 
306, 322, 338, 354, 370, 386 

The Hours of Childhood 278 

The Green Chamber 279 

The Autumn Trees 279 

The Sailor's Bride 282 

The Poor Cousin 282 

The Oak of theForest 283 

The Exile Sisters 283 

The Gem of the Tropics 286 

The Poor Cousin 294 

The Indian Summer 298 

The Book of the Future 299 

The Heai-t that loves truly can never 

forget 302 

The Crucifixion 310 

The young Doctor's first Patient. . 311 

The Distant City 327 

The Maid of Alder Valley 331 

The Angel Ladder 331 

Thoughts 334 

The Halfway Oak 332 

The Walbridge Family 347 

The Sanctuary won 347 

The Way to Washington 359, 375, 

391, 407 

The Crossed Dollar 362 

The Cottage by the Sea 363 

"rhe Evening Cross 363 

The Happiest Home 375 

The Aeronaut 382 

The Child's Prayer 387 

The Humbled Pharisee 390 

The Life of Trial 394 

The Hill of Science 398 

The Stars 407 

The Two Wills 410 

The Juniata Valley 410 

The Universal Genius 414 

The Blind Boy's Dream 414 

Unrequited Love 43 

Uncle Jefferson and his Niece. . . . 310 

Visions of the Night 375 

Works of Love 62 

Where dwell the Angels? 107 

Wild Violets 123 

Warning 1 (^2 

Where is gentle May ? 1 86 

Where are those Flowers ? 230 

Wilt thou thy friend forget 1 230 

Winter is coming 318 

Why should Spirits talk with Men? 350 

Woman 359 

Where have they vanished ? 375 

Wood Notes 375 

Woman's Influence 390 

Yield not to Sadness 39 



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Page. 
Allegorical Representation of the 

Fourth of July 1 

American House, Boston 24 

Antique Procession, Danvers Cele- 
bration - 25 

Artists' Ball, Paris 116 

Anderson, the Wizard, at the Melo- 

deon 193 

Astor Library, New York 200 

Asf ' uption of the Virgin 213 

A Dancer at a Turkish Cafe 224 

Alms House, Blackwell's Island. 225 

Australian Gold Fields— A Cradler 228 

Dry Diggings on the Turon 228 

Claim on " " 228 

Children Cradling 228 

"Washing the Gold 228 

Method of removing Goods 229 
Dodging the Commissioner 229 

PostOffice 229 

Disappointed Goldaeeker. . 229 

Goldseekers' Graves 229 

Eoad through the Black For- 
est 240 

Aubura, N. y ., Rail Road Building 

and State Prison 280 

Fort Hill Cemetery 280 

A Chinese Water Brave 400 

Allegorical Picture of Christmas. 401 
Alms House, Deer Island 408 

Blind Asylum, South Boston 64 

Bust of Henry Clay in Mourning. 105 

Bust of Madame Malibran 108 

Boston Ravine, California 112 

Burningofthe Steamer Henry Clay 117 
of the Ship Robert Center. 165 
Billy Bowlegs, and other Seminole 

Indians 257 

Bird Market, Paris S61 

Burmese Soldier 268 

Baptist Theological School, New- 
ton, Mass 289 

Battle of Waterloo 376, 377 

Black Maria, the Prisoner's own 

Omnibus 384 

Beacon HUl Reservoir 384 

Columbian Artillery, Boston 17 

Count of Paris and Duke de Char- 

tres 20 

Court House, Toronto, Canada.. 44 

Crossing the Rapids 44 

Clay Medal — Obverse side 64 

Reverse side 64 

Crossing the Sierra Nevada 117 

Church of Bodega 149 

Cape Cod Celebration 160 

Capture of a Battery at Rome 165 

Camp Meeting near Cincinnati. . . 176 
Clipper Ship Oriental, of N. York 188 
Camp Meeting, Eastham, Mass.. . 192 

Prayer Meeting 192 

Exhortation and Preaching 192 
Cathedral (new) St. Johns, N, B.. 197 

Croton Dam, New York 248 

Caldwell, Lake George, N. Y 249 

Costoli'a Columbus Group 272 

California Scenes — Bridge across 

American River 276 

Sacramento Cemetery 276 

Miner prospecting 276 

Native Indian Chief 277 

Indian Squaw and Children 277 

California Senorita 277 

California Vaquero 277 

Chinaman going to the 

Mines 277 

Court House, Pittsburgh, Pa 304 

Curiosity 325 

Chincba Islands, Peru 352 

Commencement of first Railroad in 

Brazil. 404 

Castle of Pan, Prison of Abd-el- 

Kader 405 

Canal Boats on North River 409 

Christmas Tree 412 

Duke of Brabant and Count of 
Flanders 21 

Donetti's comic Troupe of Trained 
Animals 33 



Detroit, Michigan, view of the City 96 
Dukeof Wellington— Statuette. . . 96 
Departure of Ship Lizzie Webber 

for Australia 180 

Donna Petra Camara at the Madrid 

Theatre 220 

Driggs's store, interior view 244 

Dog Market, Paris 260 

Disbrow's Riding School 304 

Dogs, Series of Views — The Ken- 
nel 356 

Day Yard 356 

Keeper's House 356 

Drawing in to Feed 357 

Litter of Pups 357 

Feeding the Pack 357 

Don Pedro II., Emperor of Brazil 380 

Encampment 1st Infantry, Newton- 

ville, Mass 113 

5th Artillery, Boston Com- 
mon 144 

Elvira, Gen. Flores's country resi- 
dence 148 

Explosion of the Steamer Reindeer, 

on the Hudson River 196 

Equestrian Portrait of the late 

Duke of Wellington 286 

Statue of " 308 

Egyptian Frigate, FaidGihaad. . . 404 

Fort Hamilton, New York Harbor 32 

Fishes — Ten varieties . ■. 52, 53 

Farm School, Thompson's Island 65 

Fetridge's Arcade, Boston 80 

Funeral Procession in honor of 

Henry Clay, New York 104 

Floating Houses, etc., at Guayaquil 149 
Fort Independence, Boston Harbor 1 53 
Fishing Party, Boston Harbor. . . . 209 
Fire Department, Berlin, Prussia, 

8 engravings 340, 341 

Fish Market, Philadelphia 344 

Graziers' Annual Festival, Gren- 
oble 140 

Girard College, Philadelphia, Pa. 152 
Glen Mary, N. P. Willis's country 

seat 169 

Great Tortoise, Zoological Gar- 
dens, London 181 

Glen Haven Water Cure, Skane- 

ateles 281 

General Warren House, Roxbury. 321 

Grace Church, New York 408 

Gold Ring presented to Gen. Frank 

Pierce 409 

Genin's Bridge 416 

Hill, Lincoln, Geer & Co.'s Store 

Exterior view 164 

Interior, first floor 164 

" second " 164 

Horticultural Exhibition, Public 

Gardens, Boston 256 

Montreal, Canada 332 

Harvard Monument, Charlestown, 

Mass 372 

His Royal Highness Prince Albert 388 

Her Majesty Queen Victoria 389 

Hunting Scenes — Hare in full run 396 
Hunter leaping a ditch. . . . 396 

Pack in full cry 396 

Head of a hound 396 

Deer scenting the chase. . . 396 



Indian Scenes — Encampment 

Scalp Dance 

Rescue of Pocahontas 

Relics — Belt worn by King 
Philip ; 

Tomahawks 

Moccasons worn by Tecum- 
seh 

Pipe 

Comb 

Ichahoe, View of the Island 

Method of taking Guano . . . 
Irish Harvest Scene 



Japanese Marriage Ceremony. '. .;v; 
Method of Agriculture . 



124 
124 
124 

265 
265 

265 
265 
265 
300 
300 
'380 



Pago. 

Japanese Perso&s of Rank 9 

Country People 9 

Funeral Ceremonies 9 

Praying Machine 9 

J. R. Scott, the Tragedian, as In- 

gomar 152 

Klous's Hat, Cap and Fur Store, 
Interior view 236 

Loss of the Cutter Taney, N. Y. 

harbor 144 

Loss of the Steamboiit Atlantic, 

Lake Erie 161 

Lawrence Naval Monument, New 

York > 200 

Lunatic Asylum, Worcester, Mass. 264 
Lincoln Square, " " 264 

Life Boat 268 

Ledger and Jayne*s Buildings, Phil- 
adelphia 360 

Mint, Philadelphia, Exterior View 40 

Adjusting Room 40 

Pressing and Milling Room 41 
General Pressing and Cut- 
ting Room 41 

Steam Engine 48 

Coin Press 48 

Metallic Coffin containing remains 

of Hon. Henry Clay 76 

Mens, and Mad'Ue Dupres 84\ 

Meat Market, Paris, 85 

Mad'Ue Rachel, as Valeria and 

Lysisca 101 

Monument Cemetery, Philadelphia 129 
Mexican Troops on the March. . . 132 
Monument to Capt. S. Thompson, 

Buffalo, N.Y 176 

Metropolitan Hotel, Opening Din- 
ner 201 

Massachusetts General Hospital, 

Boston 208 

Moyamensing Prison, at Philadel- 
phia, Pa 248 

Mary, Queen of Scots 252 

Musician of a Turkish Harem 256 

Muezzin calling to Prayer 288 

Mission of San Carlos, California 293 
Monumental Fountain, Nimes, 

France 364 

Merchants* Exchange, New York 369 

Niagara Falls — Great Rapids 36 

Little Rapids 36 

American Falls 36 

American Falls from Ciana- 

da side 37 

At Sunset 37 

Table Rock 37 

From the American Shore 68 

View of the Factories. ... 68 

From the Canada side 68 

Suspension Bridge 69 

Light House 69 

Grand Rapids and Horse 

Shoe 69 

Newport, R. I., View of the City 56 

First Beach 56 

Fort Conanicut 57 

Old Stone MiU 57 

Gen. Prescott's Head Quar- 
ters 57 

Gen. Greene's Birthplace 57 

Navy Yard, Charlestown-Perspec- 

tive View 184 

Parade Ground and Bar- 
racks . . . ; 1 84 

Rope Walk 185 

Commodore's House 185 

Nursery Yacht 212 

N. York State Fair, Utica, — View 

, Qf Utica 232 

V^ew of the Ground 232 

Bull, "Hatton" 232 

■'"'Fieifer, "Red Lady" 232 

Prize Poultry 232 

Ayrshire Bull, Kilburn 232 

Hereford Cow, '* Pretty 

Maid " 232 

Naval Combat on the Seine, Paris 240 

New Hampshire State Fair 273 



Newburyport, Mass., — Putnam 

Free School 305 

View of the City 312 

Suspension Bridge 312 

Oak Hill Cemetery 313 

City Hall 313 

Old South Church 336 

Whiteaeld's Monument... 336 

New York Bay and Harbor 337 

New York Firemen's Block to the 
Washington Monument 352 

New Music Hall, Boston 385 

Old Church, Hingham, Ms 112 

Owego, N. Y., View of the Town 168 

Ostend, Belgium 244 

Owasco Lake, New York 281 

Osmanli, the Mameluke 396 

Portrait of Gen. Frank Pierce 16 

Gen. Scott 32 

Henry Clay 49 

Lord Timothy Dexter 80 

Victor Hugo 116 

G. Nourse, Chief of Police, 

Boston 128 

Hon. R. Rantoul, Jr 140 

John S. Thrasher 153 

0. Sacket, Yankee Card 

Writer 156 

Madame Sontag 172 

CountD'Orsay 180 

Mrs. Ellis 188 

Audubon the Naturalist. . . 196 

Madame Alboni 201 

Richard Mather 265 

Rev. John Rodgers 265 

Donna Corrinne Almanza, 

(Fancy) 268 

Viscount Hardinge 297 

Hon. Abbott Lawrence. .. . 309 

J. W. Wallack 344 

Pierce and King 353 

Dr. Addison G. Bragg... 372 

Lola Montez 400 

Abd-el-Kader 405 

Procession in honor of Dan'l Web- 
ster ,>v72 

Poniard presented to Faustin I.,^ 

Emperor of Hayti ^76 

Pleasant Mountain House, Maine 83 
Partridges protecting their young 92 

Partridge Shooting 92 

Pilot's Monument, Greenwood Ce- 
metery, 97 

Prize Medal of the Amoskeag Co. 

from the World's Fair 100 

Potato Plants — six Engravings . . 133 
Portage Falls, Portage, New York 169 
Plymouth, Ms., View of the Town 216 

Pilgrim Hall 216 

Landing of the Pilgrims. . 217 

Pilgrim Rock 217 

Parade of Col. Wright's Light Dra- 
goons 242 

Prome, Burman Empire 245 

Procession of Brooklyn Firemen 296 
Passing Fireman's Hall, 

Brooklyn, N. Y 296 

Ploughing Match, Bridgeport, Ct. 297 
Plate presented to F. Gleason... 361 

Quincy, Mass.— Birthplace oi' J. 

Q. Adams .. 120 

Adams Mansion 120 

Adams Temple 121 

J. Q. Adams's Tomb 121 

Granite Quarries 128 

Rebecca at the Well . . : 12 

Rescue of Ruez Gonzales- "He art's 

Secret" ■18 

Reception of Hon. Daniel Web- 
ster on Boston Common 73 

Remains of Hon. H. Clay, City 

Hall, New York 76 

Railway Bridge, Dresden, ^axony 101 
Rangoon, Burman Empire, View 

of the City 108 

Rail Road Bridge, Portage, N. Y. 168 
Review of Providence Marine 
Artillery, Boston Common.... 177 



Page 

Rail Road — Commencement of St. 

Andrews r.nd Quebec 181 

Review of Troops, New York 204 

Regatta at Hull 208 

Reform School, Westboro, Mass.. 249 

Regatta at Lisbon 293 

Representation of Trenton Falls, 

New York 400 

Sea Serpent — five Engravings ... 4, 5 
Salt Works at Salines, France. . . 85 
Stewart's Marble Store, Broadway, 
N. Y., during Hon. Henry Clay's 

Funeral 104 

St. Helen's, Oregon, View of the 

Town 105 

Statue of Madame Malibran 108 

Saratoga Springs — Congress Hall 

and Spring, 1826 136 

United States Hotel 136 

Stanwix, Union, and Con- 
gress Hall 136 

High Rock, Empire and 

Iodine Springs 137 

Congress Spring and the 

Grounds 137 

Sierra Madre Mountains, near 

Monterey 156 

Saratoga Lake 160 

Squadron with Queen Victoria, 

leaving the Isle of Wight 197 

Snuff-Box presented to Dr. Hitch- 
cock 200 

Summer Residence of the Kara 

Family, Russia 212 

Swedish Emigrants passing Glea- 

son's Pictorial Office 288 

Sutter's Mill at Coloma, Cal 292 

The Finding of Moses 28 

Tomb of Madame Malibran 1 08 

Travelling Costume of a Lady of 

Guayaquil 148 

Traders in Oranges, etc., in Guay- 
aquil 149 

Turkish Sultan's State Barge 292 

The Prophecy of the Flowers 324 

Thanksgiving 345 

The Refuge at the Altar 348 

Turkish Gentleman 368 

Turkish Arabat 368 

Trinity Church, New York, 409 

University Building, New York. . 145 

Victoria Regia — a mammoth Lily 60 

before opening 60 

in full flower 60 

under part of the leaf 60 
Victoria Bridge, near Windsor, 

England 172 

View of Constantinople, Seraglio 

Point 224 

View of City of Chicago 373 

West Point — Hotel from the Land- 
ing 88 

Kosciusko's Monument. ... 88 

Encampment of the Cadets 89 
Cadets' Monument and Ce- 

meteiy 89 

Cadets making Fascines ... 89 
Water Cure, Han-odsburg, Ky. . . . 309 
Webster Series of Views — Monu- 
mental Design 316 

Farm at Marshfield 320 

Room in which he died. . . . 320 

Funeral Procession 328 

Metallic CofBn 328 

Tomb at Marshfield 328 

Remains in the Library 328 

At Home 328 

Whirling Dervishes 332 

Webster Funeral Procession at 

Boston 392 

Webster— Medallion Head 393 

Yale's Mammoth Tent at the Dan- 
vers Celebration 24 

Young Artist of Quito 148 

Youle's Shot Tower, New York.. 224 

Yenbenzeik, from Prome 245 




T? r<Ti7ianvr r corner bromfield 

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BOSTON, SATURDAY, JULY 3, 185: 



.V2. 



^'^S. sTngu-?"! Vol. IIL No. 1.— Whole No. 53. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

What a throng of recollections crowfl upon 
the mind at the simple mention of this day ; and 
how it cairies ns back to our lx)yhood and its de- 
lights, and bow strong^ly it reminds us of tlie 
blessings of our country and her early sti-uggles 



for the possession of the privileges we now en- the other heroes of the war. Below, in the cen- sentation of tbemoftth of July. Altogether, tbe 

joy. The engraving which our artist has given tre, is a revolutionary hero relating to his grand- picture is a very chaste and, beautiful one, and 

us below is emblematical of this long cherished children stories of the "times that tried men's will be peculiarly valuable to our readers at this 

era. The Genius of Liberty, preceded by Fame, souls." At the base on the one hand, the happy appropriate season of the year, when the day 

is seen pointing to the author of tlie Declaration masses are seen celebrating the great national and date are now before us and in celebration, 

of Independence, followed by "Washington and holiday ; on the other, is seen the tj'pical repre- by the millions of our liberty-loving people. 




ALLEGORICAL REPRESENTATION OF 1;HE FOURTH OF JULY.. 



GLEASON'S PICTOIIIAL DRAWING llOO:^ COMPAXIOX. 



Euteicd nccoiiling lo Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by F. Gleason, in tlic Clerk's Olliee of tlic 
District Court of Massucliusctts. 



[WIIITTEN EXnir.SSI.Y FOn OI.EASON 8 PICTOItlAL,] 



T H E 



— oil, — 

■ ■■•' 

3, Stoxnn of tm (Wih i§c Cow €(\i\i\\U^. 

BY LIEUTENANT MUKRAY. 



CHAPTER I. 

THE ACCIDENT. 

The soft twilight of tlic tropics, thnt loves 
to linger over the low hititudcp, after the de- 
parture of the long suminicr's day, was breath- 
ing in zephyrs of aromatic sweetness over the 
shores and plains of the beautifnl Queen of the 
jVntilles. The noise and bustle of the day had 
given place to the quiet and gentle influences of 
the hour; the slave had laid by his implements 
of labor, and now stood at case, -while tlie sun- 
burnt overseers had put off the air of vigilance 
that they had worn all day, and sat or lounged 
lazily with their cigars. 

Here and there strolled a Montaro from the 
country, who, having disposed of his load of 
fruit, of produce and fowls, was now prepar- 
ing to return once more inland, looking, with 
his long Toledo blade and heavy spurs, more 
like a bandit than an honest husbandman. The 
evening guu had long since boomed over the 
waters of the land-locked harbor from the grim 
walls of Moro Castle, the guard had been relieved 
at the governor's palace and the city walls, and 
now the steady martial tread to the tap of the 
dium rang along the streets of Havana, as the 
guard once more sought thcu- barracks in the 
Plaza des Amies. 

The pretty senoritas sat at their grated win- 
dows, nearly on a level with the street, and chat- 
ted through tlie bars, not unlike prisoners, to 
those gallants who paused to address them. And 
now a steady line of pedestrians turned their way 
to the garden that fronts the governor's palace, 
where they might listen to the music of the band, 
nightly poured forth here to rich and poor. 

At this peculiar hour there was a small party 
walking in the broad and very private walk that 
skirts the seaward side of the city, nearly oppo- 
fiite the Moro, and known as the Plato. It is 
the only hour in which a lady can appear outside 
the walls of her dwelling on foot in this queer 
and picturesque capital, and then only in the 
Plaza, opposite to the palace, or in some secluded 
and private walk like the Plato. Such is Creole 
and Spanish etiquette. 

The party referred to consisted of a fine look- 
ing old Spanish don, a lady who seemed to be 
his daughter, a little boy of some twelve or thir- 
teen years, who might perhaps be the lady's 
brother, and a couple of gentlemen in undress 
military attire, yet bearing sufficient tokens of 
rank to show them to be high in command. The 
party was a gay though small one, and the lady 
seemed to be as lively and' talkative as the two 
gentlemen could desire, while they, on their part, 
appeared most devoted to every syllable and 
gesture. 

There was a slight air of hauteur in the lady's 
bearing ; she seemed to half disdain the homage 
that was so freely tendered to her, and though 
she laughed loud and clear, there was a careless, 
not to say heartless, accent in her tones, that be- 
trayed her indifference to the devoted attentions 
of her companions. Apparently too much ac- 
customed to this treatment to be disheartened by 
it, the two gentlemen bore themselves most cour- 
teously, and continued as devoted as ever to the 
fail- creature by their side. 

The boy of whom we have spoken was a noble 
child, frank and manly in his bearing, and evi- 
dently deeply interested in the maritime scene 
before him. Now he paused to watch the throng 
of craft of every nation that lay at anchor iu the 



harbor, or which were moored, after the fashion 
here, with their stems to the quay, and now his 
fine blue eye wandered olF over the swift running 
waters of the Gulf Stream, watching for a mo- 
ment the long, heavy swoop of some distant sea- 
fowl, or the white sail of some clipper craft bound 
up the Gulf to New Orleans, or down the narrow 
channel thi'ough the Caribbean Sea to some 
South American port. The old don seemed in 
the meantime to regard the boy with an earnest 
pride, and scarcely heeded at all the bright sallies 
of wit that his daughter was so freely and merrily 
bestowing upon her two assiduous admirers. 

" Yonder brigantine must be a slaver," said 
the boy, pointing to a rakish craft that seemed to 
be stmggling against the current to tlie south- 
ward. 

" Most like, most like ; but what does she on 
this side 1 the southern shore is her ground, and 
the Isle of Pines is a hundred leagues from here," 
said the old don. 

" She has lost her reckoning, probably," said 
the boy, "and made the first land to the north. 
Liicky she didn't fall in with those Florida 
wreckers, for though the Americans don't carry 
on the African trade nowadays, they know what 
to do with a cargo if it gets once hard and fast 
on the reefs." 

" What know you of these matters?" asked 
the old don, turning a curious eye on the boy. 

" 0, I hear them talk of these things, and you 
know I saw a cargo ' run ' on the south side only 
last month," continued the boy. " There were 
three hundred or more filed off from that felucca, 
two by t^vo, to the shore." 

" It is a slaver," said one of the officers, "a 
little out of her latitude, that's all." 

"A beautiful craft," said the lady, earnestly; 
" can it be a slaver, and so beautiful ?" 

" They arc clipper-built, all of them," said the 
old don. " Launched in Baltimore, United 
States." 

Senorita Gonzales was the daughter of the 
proud old don of the same name, who was of the 
party on the Plato at the time we describe. The 
father was one of the richest as well as noblest 
in rank of all the residents of the island, being of 
the old Castilian stock, who had come from 
Spain many years before, and after holding high 
office, both civil and military, under the crown, 
had at last retired with a princely fortune, and 
devoted himself to the education of his daughter 
and son, both of whom we have already intro- 
duced to the reader. 

The daughter, beautiful, intelligent, and witty 
to a most extraordinary degree, had absolutely 
broken the hearts of half the men of rank on the 
island ; for though yet scarcely twenty years of 
age, Senorita Isabella was a confirmed coquette. 
It was her passion to command and enjoy a de- 
votion, but as to ever having in the least degree 
cherished or known wliat it was to love, the lady 
was entirely void of the charge ; she had never 
known the tenderness of reciprocal affection, nor 
did it seem to those who knew her best, that the 
man was born who could win her confidence. 

Men's hearts had been Isabella Gonzales's 
toys and playthings ever since the hour that she 
first had realized her power over them. And yet 
she was far from being heartless in reality. She 
was most sensitive, and at times thoughtful and 
serious ; but this was in her closet, and when 
alone. Those who thought that the sunshine of 
that face was never clouded, were mistaken. She 
hardly received the respect that was due to her 



better underntandtng uiul natui-ally strong points 
of character, because she hid them mainly behind 
an exterior of captivating mirthfnlneHS and never 
ceasing smiles. 

The cool relVcsliiiig sea breeze that swept in 
from the water was most dcliciouK, after the 
scorching heat of a summer's day in the West 
Indies, and the party i)auscd as they breathed in 
of its freshness, leaning upon the parapet of the 
walk, over which they looked down upon the 
glancing waves of the hay far beneath them. 
The moon was stealing slowly but steadily up 
from l)chind the lofty tower of Moro Castle, cast- 
ing a dash of silvery light athwart its dark bat- 
teries and grim walls, and silvering a long wake 
across the now silent harbor, making its rippling 
waters of golden and silver hues, and casting, 
where the Moro tower was between it and the 
water, a long, deep shadow to seaward. 

Even the gay and apparently thoughtless Seno- 
rita Isabella was struck with delight at the view 
now presented to her gaze, and for a moment she 
paused in silence to drink in of the spirit-stimng 
beauty of the scene. 

"How beautiful it is," whispered the hoy, who 
was close by her side. 

" Beautiful, ye;-i/ beautiful," echoed Isabella, 
again becoming silent. 

No one who has not breathed the soft air of 
the south at an hour such as we have described, 
can well realize the tender influence that it exer- 
cises upon a susceptible disposition. The whole 
party gazed for some minutes in silence, appar- 
ently charmed by the scene. There was a hal- 
lowing and chastening influence in the very air, 
and the gay coquette was softened into the tender 
woman. A tear even glistened in Ruez's, her 
brother's, eyes ; but he was a thoughtful and 
delicate-souled child, and would be affected thus 
much more quickly than his sister. 

The eldest of the two gentlemen who were in 
attendance upon Don Gonzales and his family, 
was Count Anguera, lieutenant-governor of the 
island ; and his comparuon, a fine military figure, 
apparently some years the count's junior, was 
General Harero of the royal infantry, quartered 
at the governor's palace. Such was the party 
that promenaded on the parapet of the Plato. 

As we have intimated, the two gentlemen were 
evidently striving to please Isabella, and to win 
from her some encouraging smile or other token 
that might indicate a preference for their atten- 
tions. Admiration even from the high source 
that now tendered it was no new thing to her, 
and with just sufficient archness to puzzle tliem, 
she waived and replied to their conversation 
with most provoking indifference, lavishing a 
vast deal more kindness and attention upon a 
noble wolf-hound that crouched close to her feet, 
his big clear eye bent ever upon his mistress's 
face with a degree of intelligence that would have 
formed a theme for a painter. It was a noble 
creature, and no wonder the lady evinced so 
much regard for the hound, who ever and anon 
walked close to her. 

"You love the hound?" suggested General 
Harero, stooping to smooth its glossy coat. 
" Yes." 

" He is to be envied, then, upon my soul, lady. 
How could he, with no powers of utterance, have 
done that for himself, which we poor gallants so 
fail in doing V 

*' And wdiat may that be V asked Isabella, 
archly tossing her head. 

" Win thy love," half whispered the officer, 
drawing closer to her side. 

The answer was lost, if indeed Isabella intend- 
ed one, by the father's calling the attention of the 
party to some object on the Itegla shore, oppo- 
site the city, looming up in the dim light. 

Ruez had mounted the parapet, and with his 
feet carelessly dangling on the other side, sat 
gazing off' upon the sea, now straining his eye to 
make out the rig of some dark hull in the dis- 
tance, and now following back the moon's glit- 
tering wake until it met the shore. At this mo- 
ment the hound, leaving his mistress's side, put 
his fore paws upon the top of the parapet and his 
nose into one of the boy's hands, causing him to 
turn round suddenly to sec what it was that 
touched him; in doing which he lost his balance, 
and with a faint cry fell from the parapet far 
down to the water below. Each of the gentle- 
men at once sprang upon the stone work and 
looked over where the boy had fallen, but it 
would have been madness for any one, however 
good a swimmer; and as they realized this and 
their helpless situation, they stood for a moment 
dumb with consternation. 

At that moment a plunge was heard in the 
water from the edge of the quay far below the 



jmrapet, and a dark form was traced making 
its way througli the water with that strong bold 
stroke that shows the cfiort of a confident and 
powci'fu! hwinimcr. 

" 'I'hank God nome one has seen his fall from 
liclow, and they will rescue Iiim," said Don Gon- 
zales, springing swiftly down the Plato steps, 
followed by Isabella and the ofliccrs, and seek- 
ing the street that led to the quay below. 

"O hasten, father, hasten!" exclaimed Isa- 
bella, impatiently. 

" Nay, Isabella, my old limbs totter with fear 
for dear Ruez," was the hasty reply of the old 
don, as he huiTicd forward with his daughter. 

"Dear, dear Kuez," exclaimed Isabella, hys- 
terically. 

D.ashing by the guard stationed on the quay, 
who presented arms as his superiors passed, they 
reached its end in time to see, through the now 
dim twilight, the efforts of some one in the water 
supporting the half insensilde boy with one arm, 
while with the other he was struggling with al- 
most superhuman effort against the steady set of 
the tide to seaward. Already were a couple of 
seamen lowering a quarter-boat from an Ameri- 
can barque, near by, but the rojjc had fouled in 
the blocks, and they conld not loose it. A cou- 
ple of infantry soldiers had also come up to the 
spot, and having secured a rope were about to 
attempt some assistance to the swimmer. 

" Heave the line," shouted one of the seamen. 
" Give me the bight of it, and 111 swim out to 
him." 

" Stand by for it," said the soldier, coiling it 
in his hand and then throwing it towards the 
barque. But the coil fell short of the mark, and 
another minute's delay occurred. 

In the meantime he who held the boy, though 
evidently a man of cool judgment, powerful 
frame, and steady purpose, yet now breathed 
so heavily in his earnest struggle with the 
swift tide, that his panting might be distinctly 
heard on the qua}'. He was evidently conscious 
of the efforts now making for his succor and that 
of the bo}^, but he uttered no words, still bending 
every nerve and faculty towards the stemming 
of the current that sets into the harbor from the 
Gulf Stream. 

The hound had been running back and forth 
on the top of the parapet, half prcpai"ing every 
moment for a spring, and then deterred by the 
immense distance which presented itself between 
the animal and the water, it would run back and 
forth again with a most piteous howling cry ; 
but at this moment it came bounding down the 
street to the quay, as though it at last realized 
the projaer spot from which to make the attempt, 
and with a leap that seemed to cany it nearly 
a rod into the waters, it swam easily to the boy's 
side. 

An exclamation of joy escaped from both Don 
Gonzales and Isabella, for they knew the hound 
to have saved a life before, and now prized his 
sagacity highly. 

As the hound swung round easily beside the 
struggling forms, the swimmer placed the boy's 
arm about the animal's neck, while the noble 
creature, with almost human reason, instead of 
struggling fiercely at being thus entirely buried 
iu the water, save the mere point of his nose, 
worked as steadily and as calmly as though he 
was merely following ins young master on shore. 
The momentary relief was of the utmost impor- 
tance to the swimmer, who being thus partially 
relieveil of Ruez's weight, once more struck out 
boldly for the quay. But the boy had now lost 
all consciousness, and his arm slipped away from 
the hound's neck, and he rolled heavily over, 
carrying down the swimmer and himself for a 
moment, below the surface of the water. 

" Holy motlier ! they are both drowned!" al- 
most screamed Isabella. 

"Lost! lost!" groaned Don Gonzales, with 
iiplifted hands and tottering form. 

"No! no!" exclaimed General Harero, "not 
yet, not yet." He had jumped on board the 
barque, and had cut the davit ropes with hi.s 
sword, and thus succeeded in launching the boat 
with himself and the two seamen in it. 

At this moment the swimmer rose once more 
slowly with his burthen to the surface ; but his 
efforts were so faintly made now, that he barely 
floated, and yet with a nervous vigor he ket)t the 
boy still far above himself. And now it was 
that the noble instinct of the hound stood his 
young master in such importance, and led him 
to seize with his teeth the boy's clothes, while 
the swimmer once more fairly gained his self- 
possession, and the boat with General Harero 
and the seamen came alongside. In a moment 
more the boy with his preserver and the dog 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING HOOM COMPANION. 



■were safe in the boat, whicli was rowed at once 
to the qnay. 

A shout of satisf-iction rang out from twenty 
voices that had witnessed the scene. 

Isabella, the moment they were safely in the 
boat, fainted, while Count Anguora ran for a 
volante for conveyance home. The swimmer 
soon regained his strength, and when the boat 
reached the quay, he lifced the boy from it him- 
self. It was a most striking picture that pre- 
sented itself to the eye at that moment on the 
quay, in the dim twilight that was so struggling 
with the moon's brighter rays. 

The father, embracing the reviving boy, looked 
the gratitude he could not find words to express, 
wliile a calm, satisfied smile ornamented the 
handsome features of the soldier who had saved 
Kuez*s life at sucli imminent risk. The coat 
which he had hastily thrown upon the quay 
when he leaped into the water, showed him to 
bear the rank of lieutenant of infanti-y, and by 
the number, he belonged to General Harero's 
own division. 



CELVPTER II. 

THE BELLE AND THE SOLtUER. 

"Whoever has been in Havana, tliat strange 
and peculiar city, wliose every association and 
belonging seem to bring to mind the period of 
centuries gone by, whose time-worn and moss- 
covered cathedrals appear to stand as grim rcc- 
oi'ds of the past, whose noble palaces and resi- 
dences of tlie rich give token of the fact of its 
great wealth and extraordinary resources — who- 
ever, we say, has been in this capital of Cuba, 
has of course visited its well-known and far-famed 
Tacon Paseo. It is here, just outside the city 
walls, in a beautiful tract of land, laid out in 
tempting walks, ornamented with the fragrant 
flowei'S of the tropics, and with starues and foun- 
tains innumerable, that the beauty and fashion 
of the town resort cacli afternoon to drive in their 
volantes, and to meet and greet each other. 

It was on the afternoon subsequent to that of 
the accident recorded in the preceding cliapter, 
that a young ofilicer, off duty, might be seen par- 
tially reclining upon one of the broad seats that 
here and there line the foot-path of the circular 
drive in the Paseo. He possessed a fine manly 
figure, and was perhaps of twenty-four or five 
years of age, and clothed in the plain undress 
nuiform of the Spanish army. His features wei'C 
of that national and handsome cast that is pecu- 
liar to the full-blooded Castilian, and the pure 
olive of his complexion contrasted finely with a 
moustache and imperial as black as the dark 
flowing liair that fell from beneath his foraging 
Ciip. At the moment when we introduce him he 
was playing with a small, light walking-stick, 
with which he thrashed liis boots most immoder- 
ately ; but his thoughts were busy enough in 
another quarter, as any one might conjecture 
even at a single glance. 

Suddenly his whole manner changed ; he rose 
quickly to his feet, and lifting his cap gracefully, 
he saluted and acknowledged the particular no- 
tice of a lady who bent partially forward from a 
richly mounted volantc, drawn by as richly a ca- 
parisoned horse, and driven by as richly dressed a 
calesaro. The manner of the young officer froin 
that moment was the very- antipodes of what it 
had been a few moments before. A change 
seemed to have come over the spirit of his dream. 
His fine military figure became erect and digni- 
fied, and a slight indication of satisfied pride was 
just visible in the fine lines of his expressive lips. 
As he passed on his way, after a momentary 
pause, he met General Harcro, who stiffly ac- 
knowledged his military salute, with anything but 
kindness, expressed in the stern lines of Ins for- 
bidding countenance. He even took some pains 
to scowl upon the young soldier as they passed 
each other. 

But what cared Lieutenant Bczan for his 
frowns ? Had not the belle of the city, the beau- 
tiful, the peerless, the famed Senorita Isabella 
Gonzales just publicly saluted him ? — that glo- 
rious being whose transcendent beauty had been 
the theme of every tongue, and whose loveliness 
had enslaved him from the first moment he had 
looked upon her — just two years previous, when 
he first came from Spain. Had not this high- 
bom and proud lady publicly saluted him ? Him, 
a poor lieutenant of infantry, who had never 
dared to lift his eyes to meet her oivn before, 
liowever deep and ardently he might have wor- 
sliipped her in secret. AVliat cared the young offi- 
cer that his commander had seen fit thus to frown 
upon him \ True, he realized the power of mili- 



tary discipline, and partieulaidy of the Spanish 
army ; but lie forgot all else now, in the fact that 
Isabella Gon/ales had publicly saluted him in 
the paths of the Paseo. 

Possessed of a highly chivalrous disposition, 
Lieutenant Bezau had few confidants among his 
regiment, who, notwithstanding this, loved him 
as well as brothers might love. He seemed de- 
cidedly to prefer solitude and his books to the 
social gatherings, or the clubs formed by his 
brother officers, or indeed to join them in any of 
their ordinary sports or pastimes. 

Of a very good family at home, he had the 
misfortune to have been born a younger brother, 
and after being thoroughly educated at the best 
schools of Madrid, he was frankly told by his 
father that lie must seek his fortune, and for tl-e 
future rely solely upon himself. There was but 
one field open to him, at least so it seemed to 
him, and that was the army. Two years before 
tlie opening of our story he had enlisted as a 
third lieutenant of infantry, and had been at once 
ordered to the West Indies with his entire regi- 
ment. Here promotion for more than one gal- 
lant act closely followed him, until at the time 
we introduce him to the reader as first lieutenant. 
Being of a naturally cheei-ful and exceedingly 
happy disposition, he took life like a philosopher, 
and knew little of care or sorrow until the time 
when he first saw Senorita Isabella Gonzales — 
an occasion that planted a hopeless passion in 
his brejist. 

From the moment of their first meeting, 
though entirely unnoticed by her, he felt that he 
loved her, deeply, tenderly loved her ; and yet at 
the same time he fully realized liow immeasur- 
ably she was beyond his sphere, and consequently 
hopes. He saw the first officials of the island at 
her very feet, watching for one glance of encour- 
agement or kindness from those dark and lus- 
trous eyes of jet ; in short, he saw her ever the 
centre of an admiring circle of the rich and 
proud. It is perhaps strange, but nevertheless 
true, that with all these discouraging and dis- 
heartening circumstances, Lieutenant Bczan did 
not lose all hope. He loved her, lowly and ob- 
scure though he was, with all his heart, and used 
to whisper to himself that love like his need not 
despair, for he felt how truly and honestly his 
heart warmed and his pulses beat for her. 

Nearly two entire ycai-s had his devoted heart 
lived on thus, if not once gratified by a glance 
from her eye, still hoping that devotion like his 
w^ould one day be rewarded. T\niat prophets of 
the future arc youth and love ! Distant as the 
star of his destiny appeared from him, he yet 
still toiled on, hoped on, in his often weary round 
of duty, sustained by the one sentiment of tender 
love and devotcdness to one who knew him not. 

At the time of the fearful accident when Kuez 
Gonzales came so near losing his life from the 
fall he suffered off the parapet of the Plato, Lieu- 
tenant Bezan was officer of the night, his rounds 
having fortunately brought him to the quay at 
the most opportune moment. He knew not who 
it was that had fallen into the water, but guided 
by a native spirit of daring and humanity, he 
had thrown off liis coat and cap and leaped in 
after him. 

The feelings of pleasure and secret joy expe- 
rienced by the young officer, when after landing 
from the boat he learned by a single glance who 
it was he had so fortunately saved, may be better 
imagined than described, when his love for the 
hoy's sister is remembered. And when, as we 
have related, the prond Senorita Isabella public- 
ly saluted him before a hundred eyes in the 
Paseo, he felt a joy of mind, a brightness of 
heart, that words could not express. 

His figure and face were such that once seen 
their manly beauty and noble outline could not be 
easily forgotten ; and there were few^ ladies in the 
city, whose station and rank would permit them 
to associate with one bearing only a lieutenant's 
commission, who would not have been prond of 
his notice and homage. He could not be igno- 
rant of hi- personal recommendations, and yet the 
young officer sought no female society — his heart 
knew but one idol, and he could bow to but one 
tlironc of love. 

Whetlier by accident or purposely, the lady 
herself only knew, but when the volante, in the 
circular drive of the Paseo, again came opposite 
to the spot where Lieutenant Bezan was, the 
Senorita Isabella dropped her fan upon the car- 
riage-road. As the young officer sprang to pick 
it np and return it, she bade the calesaro to halt. 
Her father, Don Gonzales, was by her side, and 
the lieutenant presented the fan in the most re- 
spectful manner, being rewarded by a glance 



from the lady that thrilled to Iiis very soul. Don 
Gonzales exclaimed : 

"By our lady, but this is the young officer, 
Isabella, who yesternight so promptly and gal- 
lantly saved the life of our dear Iluez." 

" It is indeed he, father," said the beauty, with 
much interest. 

"Lieutenant Bezan, the general told us, I 
believe," continued the father. 

" That was the name, father." 

"And is this Lieutenant Bezan'?" asked Don 
Gonzales, addressing the officer. 

" At your service," replied lie, bowing respect- 
fully. 

" Senor," continued the father, most caniestly, 
and extending at the same time his hand to the 
blushing r-oldier, " permit me and my daughter 
to thank you sincerely for the extraordinary ser- 
vice you rendered to us and our dear liuez last 
evening." 

" Senor, the pleasure of having served you 
richly compensated for any personal inconven- 
ience or risk I may have experienced," answered 
Lieutenant Bezan ; saying which, he bowed low 
and looked once into the lovely eyes of the beau- 
tiful Senorita Isabella, when at a word to the 
calesaro, the volante again jiasscd on in the cir- 
cular drive. 

Bnt the young officer had not been nnwatched 
during the brief moments of conversation that 
had passed between him and the occupants of 
the vehicle. Scarcely had he left the side of the 
volante, when he once more met General Harero, 
who seemed this time to take some pains to con- 
front him, as he remarked : 

" What business may Lieutenant Bezan have 
with Don Gonzales and his fair daughter, that 
he stops their volante in the public walks of the 
Paseo V 

" The lady dropped her fan, general, and I 
picked it up andreturned it to her," was the gentle- 
manly and submissive reply of the young officer. 

" Dropped her fan," repeated the general, 
snecringly, as he gazed at the lieutenant. 

"Yes, general, and I returned it." 

" Indeed," said the commanding officer, with 
a decided empliasis. 

" Could I have done less, general V asked 
Lieutenant Bezan. 

" It matters not, though you seem to be ever 
on hand to do the lady and her father some ser- 
vice, sir. Perhaps you would relish another cold 
bath," he continued, with most cutting sarcasm. 
" Wlio introduced you, sir, to these people?" 

"No one, sir. It was chance that brought us 
together. You will remember the scene on the 
quay." 

"I do." 

" Before that time I had never exchanged one 
word with them." 

" And on this you presume to establish an ac- 
quaintance ?" 

" By no means, sir. The lady recognized me, 
and I was proud to return the polite salute with 
which she greeted me." 

" Doubtless." 

" Would you have me do othenvise, sir ?" 

" I would have you avoid this family of Gon- 
zales altogether." 

" I trust, general, that I have not exceeded my 
duty either to the father or daughter, though by 
the tone of your remarks I seem to have incun-ed 
your disapprobation," replied Lieutenant Bezan, 
firmly but respectfully. 

" It would be more becoming in an officer of 
j'ourrank," continued the superior, "to be nearer 
his quarters, than to spend his hours off duti,' in 
so conspicuous and public a place as the Tacon 
Paseo. I shall see that such orders are issued 
for the future as shall keep those attached to my 
division within the city walls." 

" Whatever duty is prescribed by my superiors 
I shall most cheerfully and promptly respond to. 
General Harero," replied the young officer, as he 
respectfully saluted his general, and turning, he 
sought die city gates on the way to his barracks. 

" Stay, Lieutenant Bezan," said the general, 
somewhat nervously. 

" General," repeated the officer, witli tlie 
prompt military salute, as he awaited orders. 

** You may go, sir," continued his superior, 
biting liis lips with vexation. "Another time 
will answer my purpose quite as well, perhaps 
better. You may retire, I say." 

" Yes, general," answered the soldier, respect- 
fully, and once more turned away. 

Lieutenant Bezan was too well aware of Gen- 
eral Harero's intimacy at theliouse of Don Gon- 
zales, not to understand the meaning of the re- 
buke and exhibition of bitterness on the part of 



his superior towards him. The general, although 
he possessed a fine commanding figure, yet was 
endowed with no such personal advantages to I'cc- 
ommend him to a lady's eye as did the young 
officer who had thus provoked him, and he could 
not relish the idea that one who had already ren- 
dered such signal services to the Senorita Isabella 
and her father, even though he was so very far 
below himself in rank, sliould become too inti- 
mate with the family. It would be unfair to- 
wards Lieutenant Bezan to suppose that he did 
not i)ossess sufficient judgment of human nature 
and discernment to sec all this. 

He could not but regret that he liad incuiTcd 
the ill will of his general, though it was unjustly 
entertained, for he knew only too well how rig- 
orous was the service in which he was engaged, 
and that a superior officer possessed almcst ab- 
solute power over those placed in his command, 
in the Spanish army, even unto the sentence of 
death. He had too often been the unwilling 
spectator, and even at times the innocent agent 
of scenes that were revolting to bis better feel- 
ings, which emanated solely from this arbitrary 
power vested in heartless and incompetent indi- 
viduals by means of their military rank. Musing 
thus upon the singular state of his affairs, and 
the events of the last two days, so important to 
his feelings, now recalling the bewitching glances 
of the peerless Isabella Gonzales, and now ru- 
minating upon the ill will of General Harero, he 
strolled into the city, and reaching La Domini- 
ca's, he threw himself upon a lounge near the 
marble fountain, and calling for a glass o{ agrass, 
he sipped the cool and grateful beverage, and 
wiled away the hour until the evening parade. 

Though Don Gonzales duly appreciated the 
great service tliat Lieutenant Bezan had done 
him, at sncli imminent personal hazard, too, yet 
he would no more have introduced him into his 
family on terms of a visiting acquaintance in 
consequence thereof, than lie would have boldly 
broken down any other strict rule and principle 
of his ai'istocratic nature ; and yet he was not 
ungrateful. Far from it, as Lieutenant Bezan 
had reason to know, for lie applied his great in- 
fluence at once to the governor-general in the 
young officer's behalf. The favor he demanded 
of Tacon, then governor and commander-in-chief, 
■was the promotion to a captaincy of him who 
had so vitally served the interests and welfare of 
his house. 

Tacon was one of the wisest and best governors 
that Cuba ever had, as ready to reward merit as 
he was to signally punish trickery or crime of 
any sort, and when the case was fairly laid before 
him, bv reference to the rolls of his military sec- 
retary, he discovered that Lieutenant Bezan had 
already been promoted twice for distinguished 
merit, and replied to Don Gouznlcs that, as this 
was the ease, and the young soldier was found 
to be so deserving, he should cheerfully comply 
with his request as it regarded his early promo- 
tion in bis company. Thus it was, that scarcely 
ten days subsequent to the meeting in the Paseo, 
which we have described, Lieutenant Bezan was 
regularly gazetted as captain of infantiy, by hon- 
orable promotion and approval of the governor- 
general. 

Tills good fortune, as pleasant to him as it was 
unexpected, was attributed by the young officer 
to the right source, and was m reality enhanced 
and valued from that very fact. 

" A bumper," exclaimed his brother officers, 
that day at the mess-table, when all were met. 
"A bumper to Captain Lorenzo Bezan. May 
he never draw his sword without cause ; never 
sheathe it without honor!" 

[to be COXTINUED.] 



TIBIE'S PROGRESS. 

Alas ! it is not till time with reckless hand has 
torn out half the leaves from the book of human 
life, to light the fires of passion with from day to 
day, that man begins to see that the leaves which 
remain are few in number, and to remember 
faintly at fii'st, and then more cleaidy, that upon 
the early pages of that book was i^Tittcn a story 
of happy influence which he would fain read 
over again. Then comes listless irresolution 
and the inevitable inaction of despair; or else 
the firm resolve to record upon the leaves that 
still remain a more noble history than the child's 
story with which the book began. — Longfellow. 



CRITICS. 

A man must serve his time at every trade, 
Save censure ; critics all are readj"-made : 
Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got hy rote, 
ivith just enough of learning to misquote ; 
A mind well skilled to forpe or tind a fault, 
A turn for panning — call it Attic salt — 
Fear not to lie — H viiW seem a lucky bit ; 
Shrink not from blasphemy — 't will puss for wit ; 
Care not for feeling, pass your project jest, — 
And stand a critic^ hated yet caressed. 

Byron, 



GLEAS()N\S PICTORIAL DRAWII^G ROOM COMPANION. 




APPEARANCE OF THE SEA SEllPENT WHEN FIRST SEEN FROM H. B. M. SHIP DiEDALUS. 



THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT. 

You have not seen his snakeship, perhaps ? 
Well, let those who have eyes to see, see him 
herewith — a bona fide repi-esentation of a most 
remarkable creatm*e, whose htitural propensities 
seem to lead him annually — -just about this period 
of the year~-to the shores of Nahant and Cape 
Ann. Last year he visited us, and year before 
last ; and he will, beyond a doubt, be here again 
this year. Of course, every captain that sails 



out of Boston, from the master of a fishing 
smack to a regular liner, has seen the monster, 
and very many are the wonderful stories they re- 
late. That there is such a creature, however, 
there can be but little doubt, as his appearance 
has so often been alluded to. One of the best 
descriptions, and on the very best authority, is 
that which we have seen in the report of an Eng- 
lish officer to the war department of his own 
country. When the Dadalvs frigate, Captain 



M'Quhx, which aiTived at London, not long 
since, was on her passage liome from the East 
Indies, between the Cape of Good Hope and St. 
Helena, her captain, and most of her officers and 
crew, at four o'clock one afternoon, saw a sea 
serpent. The creature was twenty minutes in 
sight of the frigate, and passed imder her quar- 
ter. Its head appeared to be about four feet out 
of tlie water, and there was about sixty feet of 
body in a straight line on the surface. It is cal- 



culated that there must have been mider water a 
length of thirty or forty feet more, by which it 
propelled itself at the rate of fifteen miles an 
hour. The diameter of the exposed part of the 
body was about sixteen inches ; and when it ex- 
tended its jaws, which were full of large jagged 
teeth, they seemed sufficiently capacious to ad- 
mit of a tall man standing upright between 
them. The ship was sailing north at the rate of 
eight miles an hour- The Diedalns left the Cape 



UWl 




TPE l?]EA SERPENT PASSING UNDER THE STERN OF THE D^DALUS. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING HOOM COMPANION. 






HEAD OF THE SEA SERPENT SEEN BY CAPT. M'qUH.E. 



of Good Hope on the 30th of July mid reached 
St. Helena on the 16th of August. Next, the 
foUowmg very interesting report, by Captain 
M'Quhce, was forwarded to tlie Admh'alty : 

" Her Majesty's Ship Dicdalus, Hamoaze, Oct. H. 

" Sir : — In reply to your letter of this day's 
date, rcc[uiring information as to the truth of a 
statement published in the Times newspaper, of 
H sea serpent of extraordinary dimensions having 
been seen from her majestj-'s ship Dadalus, un- 
der my command, on her passage from the East 
Indies, I have the honor to acquaint you, for the 
information of my lords commissioners of the 
admiralty, that at 5 o'clock, P. M., on the 6th of 
August last, in latitude 24 degrees, 44 minutes 
south, and longitude 9 degrees, 22 minutes east, 
the weather dark and cloudy, wind fresh from 
tlic nortlnvest, with a long ocean swell from the 
southwest, the ship on the port tack heading 
northeast by north, something very unusual was 
seen by Mr. Sartoris, midshipman, i"apidly ap- 
proaching the ship from before the beam. The 
circumstance was immediately reported by him 
to the officer of tlie watch, Lieutenant Edgai" 
Dnmimond, wltli whom, and Jlr. William Bai"- 
ret, the master, I was at the time walking the 
quarter-deck. The ship's company were at 
supper. 

" On our attention being called to the object, 
it was discovered to be an enormous serpent, 
with head and shoulders kept about four feet 
constantly above the siu-face of the sea ; and as 
nearly as we could approximate by comparing it 
with the length of what our maintopsail-yard 
would show in the watei-, there was at the very 



least sixty feet of the animal a fienr (Peait, no 
portion of which was, to our perception, used in 
propelling it throi\gh the water, either by verti- 
cal or horizontal undulation. It passed rapidly, 
but so close under our lee quarter that had it 
been a man of ray acquaintance I should have 
easily recognized the features with the naked 
eye ; and it did not, either in approaching the 
ship, or after it had passed our wake, deviate in 
the slightest degree from its course to the south- 
west, which it held on at the pace of from twelve 
to fifteen miles per hour, apparently on some 
determined pui-pose. 

" The diameter of the serpent was about fifteen 
or sixteen inches behind the head, which was, 
without any doubt, that of a snake ; and it was 
never, during tlie twenty minutes that it contin- 
ued in sight of our glasses, once below the sur- 
face of the water — its color a dai"k brown, with 
yelloAnsh-white about tlie throat. It had no fins, 
but something like the mane of a horse, or rather 
a bunch of seaweed, waslied about its back. It 
was seen by the quartermaster, the boatswain's 
mate, and the man at the wheel, in addition to 
myself and officers above mentioned. 

" I am having drawings of the sei7)ent made 
from a sketch taken immediately after it was 
seen, which I hope to have ready for transmis- 
sion to my lords commissioners of the admiralty 
by to-morrow's post. I have, etc., 

" Peter M'Quh-e, Captain. 

" To Admiral Sir W. H. Gage, G. C- H." 

Dr. Robert Hamilton, the editor of the Natu- 
ralist's Library, describes an animal apparently 
belonging to this class, which was stranded on 



the Isle of Stronsay, one of the Orkneys, in 
1808. It was first seen entire, and measm'ed by 
reputable individuals ; and its remains are pre- 
served in the museum of the university of Edin- 
burgh, and in the museum of the royal college 
of the surgeons. It measured fifty-six feet in 
length and twelve in circumference. The head 
was small, not being a foot in length, from the 
snout to the first vertebra; the neck was slen- 
der, extending fifteen feet. All accounts assign 
it blow-holes. On the shoulders, something like 
a bristly mane commenced, which extended to 
near the extremity of the tail. It had three pair 
of fins, or paws, connected with the body. Dr. 
i"'leming suggests that these members were, 
probably, the remains of pectoral, ventral and 
caudal fins. The skin was smooth, without 
scales, and of a gi-ayish color. The eye was of 
the size of the seal's ; the throat was too naiTow 
to admit the hand. Various other accounts 
have from time to time been given by eye-wit- 
nesses, all going to show lliat the existence of 
such an animal may be considered as settled. 

The dra^vings refeired to in the above l.'tter 
were transmitted, and aix here given. These pic- 
tures represent his snakeship in various states 
and positions. It appears that he is no modem 
invention ; for as early as 1 740, there appeared 
accounts of those who had seen him. Below, 
we give a view of the creature, as it appeared as 
seen in 1740. The large head which we repre- 
resent herewith, is very like a seal's, and the 
body generally is agile and eel-like. The divi- 
sions are to show the anatomical form of the 
sea serpent. 




THE SEA SERPENT. FAC-SIMILE FROM EGEDE's WORK. 1740. 



GLEAS[)N'S nC'TOPJAL DRAAVIXG nOO:M CO^MPANION. 



[U'rltten for Olcnson'H PictorJiil.] 
REIVIE:tlimANCE. 

BY Wn.LIAM W. GlUDlKaB. 

I 'II think of tliflo, T '11 thinli of theo, 
'W'lioti morn Il}<Iit;i up tlic blushing Hky ; 

When ovury Mnl in on it.t wing, 
Autl every ihiImj in Ijciiting high. 

1 11 thiiiU of tlu-o, 1 'II thinlc of thco, 
Wlicn hU is llri^;llt in nnturo'fl bower; 

When bri'iithcrt her frapa'ance o'ov tho fl«n, 
And joy upcukH forth from every flower. 

3 'II think nf theo, 1 '11 think of thee, 
When ploiiflnre'H cup ia flowiuR nigh ; 

When every heart i.s light unci free, 
And hope beams fortli from bcauty'a oyo. 

I '11 think of thee, I '11 think of thco, 
When evening's qiiiot hour's caresB, 

Wakes not imoto from yonder Ion, 
Antl all la calm on natui-o's breust. 

I ni think of thee, I 'U think of tlicc, 
When autumn strowH the forest walk ; 

When sadness marka the leiifloss tree. 
And sorrow bows the withering stalk. 

I 'II think of thco, I "11 think of thee, 

"^^liero'or 1 tustc of soito.v's eup ; 
Then will I turn kind thoughts to theo. 

Thy thoughts shall buoy my spirit up. 
i — >*^ » 

[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

THE LAZZARONI. 

AN INCIDENT IN THE CAREER OF ERA DIAVOLO. 



BT FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. 

Among the many foreigners resident at Na^ 
pies, in the year IS — , was a young American, 
by tite name of Walter Randolph. For a few 
weeks after his arrival, he employed himself al- 
most "wlioUy in examining the marvels of tlio 
city and its environs. He ascended the volcano 
more than once ; he wandered whole days 
among the vine-clad hills ; he visited the famous 
grotto, and many a moonlight night he passed 
upon the silver waters of the matchless bay. It 
was on one of these aquatic excursions that he 
was happy enoiagh to save from drowning a poor 
lazzaroni, ■who rejoiced in the baptismal name of 
Carlo, and whose gratitude to the young Ameri- 
cano was boundless. People seem to value their 
lives in exact proportion to their worthlessness. 
If Carlo had tried to convince a French philo;'0- 
pher of the importance of his preservation, tlie 
Gaul would probably hare answered that he did 
not sec the necessity. But Randolph, with his 
poetical euthusiasm, could easily comprehend 
tlie value of existence to so poor a man as Car- 
lo, beneath such a sky as tliat of Naples. He felt 
that the glories of that transparent atmosphere 
could reconcile the lazzaroni to a costume of 
rags, a diet of maccaroni and nuts, and an un- 
canopied couch upon a flight of steps at tlic base 
of a noble's palace. 

The gratitude of the rescued man was bound- 
less; he knelt down and kissed the feet of the 
noble "signer," the "excellentissimo," and 
swore etemal fidelity. The American regarded 
this excessive homage with some contempt, but 
he pardoned it on account of its cliaracteristic 
nationality. He became accustomed, too, to 
seeing Carlo sleeping on his doorstep, and his 
daily gratuities to the hazzaroni sustained the life 
lie had pi'cserved. The Kcapolitan proved an 
excellent guide in the city and its environs, and 
Randolph had no reason to regrcthis patronage. 
Carlo, though as great a liar as the rest of his 
trilie, never deceived his patron. 

At last, Randolph, who was rich and without 
a profession, began to weary of his idle life, and 
would have cpxitted Naples for some other city, 
had he not chanced one day to encounter a most 
eliarmiug girl, wh.osc cxcpusite figure and sweet 
face, whose dark Italian eyes, 

" Sweetest eyes were ever seen, 
Fiery, loving and serene," 

made him give up instantly a projected visit to 
Rome, unpack bis trunks and countermand his 
vcttnrino. 

lie fiew to Carlo, and described the beauty 
who had so suddenly captivated his imagination. 

''Pel' Bacc/toT' said the lazzaroni, " this must 
be no other than Ninctta CastclU, the daughter 
of obi Nicolo Castelli, a retired tradesman. Ah! 
fhv has given many a man tlie lieart-aclic, sig- 
nor. Hut I pray your excellency to dismiss lier 
fitnn your mind," 

"Why so, Carlo? Is she unwortliy of an 
honest adiuiralion '{" 

"Njt so, excellency. She is ns beaiiliful as 



she is good — an angel of virtue and charity. But 
alas ! she is doomed," 

" To the convent !" 

** No, signor; but she is the object of the per- 
secutions of Count Fiiilto, a man whom she as 
well as all Naiiles abhors. He is powerful and 
nndevolcnt. Wo to the man who presents liim- 
seir as the count's rival !" 

"I care not for enmity," rei)lied Randolph, 
wilh a scornrnl lau;;h. " Ymi have given mc 
only an additional motive for courting her av- 
quaintancc — her frieud-diip. lias she !)rothcrs'f" 

" She has no friend in the world except her 
old father." 

" Do you know where she lives V 

" Surely, signor, I were no Nea])olitan else." 

" Then, Carlo, to-night you shall take me be- 
neath her window." 

" At what Iiour ?" 

" When the moon rises." 

"And where .shall I meet you, signor?" 

" Here at tJic door of my lodgings.'* 

" I will not fail, excellency." 

The intervening time passed heavily with 
Randolph. The little that had fallen from the 
lazzai'oni deepened the interest he Iiad previous- 
ly felt in the young beauty. Lovely, ti-ue-iieart- 
cd, the object of an unwelcome suit, the romance 
of his wai'm southern nature was enlisted in her 
behalf 

At the appointed hour, taking his cloak and 
guitar, Randolph followed Carlo to the hiunble 
residence of the young beauty. It was a deli- 
cious summer night, and the moon, wliilc it 
gilded the high parapets of the houses, suffered 
all beneath to repose in the blackest shadow. 

Randolph touched the guitar gracefully, and 
sang well for an amateur. His serenade, a well- 
known and favorite Neapolitan air, did credit to 
his voice and skill. At its conclusion, a lattice 
was opened, and a white hand, just discernible 
in the reflected moonlight, tossed him a fj-agrant 
orange blossom. He pressed it to his lips, and 
grateful for this slight token of interest, retunied 
to his lodging to dream till daylight of Ninetta. 

The very next day he was so fortunate as to 
secure an introduction to the young girl, and was 
as much delighted with her intelligence as with 
her beauty. Day after day he sought her out, 
and with a rapidity that sometimes surprised 
him.self ; liis interest ripened into warm affection, 
which was reciprocated. The old father was 
gratified by the engagement, and the future 
seemed to smile brightly on the two young lov- 
ers. Even Count Fialto, whom Randolpli once 
or twice encountered, as if despairing of success, 
seemed to have abandoned the field to his foreign 
rival. The day was fixed for the nuptials. 

One afternoon, Randolph having made an ex- 
cursion on horseback, in the environs of Naples, 
had halted in the shade of a heavy growth of 
trees that skirted the road. Ilere, dismounting 
from his horse, he had turned him loose to graze, 
and stretched upon a grassy bank was musing 
over his approaching happiness, a never-failing 
theme of meditation to a young man in ]iis 
position. 

Carlo, who always accompanied his patron, 
running by Ids stirrup, or holding on by the tail 
of his liorse, had also imitated Randolph's ex- 
ample by throwing himself at full length upon 
the grass, only he selected the roadside for the 
place of his repose, for, lazzaroni-likc, he ever 
preferred the sunlight to the shade. He was 
just sinking into a luxurious doze, when a near 
footstep startled him. Sitting up, he beheld a 
man of commanding mien, and richly attired, 
who saluted him with some civility. 

"You arc Carlo, the lazzaroni, I believe?" 
said the stranger. 

" Yes, excellency." 

"And attached to the service of a young 
American by the name of Signor Randolph ?" 

" I have that honor, excellency." 

"I am going to Naples in search of him," 
said the gentleman, " having letters of introduc- 
tion fiom his friends at Rome. Y'ou will please 
infonn me where he lodges." 

" 1 can do better than that," said the lazzaro- 
ni. " I can present you at once to his excellency." 

"Indeed !" said the stranger, with a courteous 
smile, " that is an unexpected gratification." 

The lazzaroui rose, and led the stranger into 
the presence of liis patron. 

" Signor Randolph," said the visitor, "I e.s- 
teem myself very fortunate in meeting you. I 
am the bearer of a letter from your friend AVil- 
son, yonr travelling companion ns far as Rome," 
and he extended a letter. 

"Any friend of Wilson's is mine," said Ran- 



dolph, conrteoiisly simking hands with tlic 
Htrangcr, and then glancing at the letter. "The 
Chevalier Colonna, I perceive." 

" That is my name," said the stranger. "1 
am the sole rcjircsentativc of a once great name. 
lint wo have fallen on evil days. A few pictures 
and a ruined palace arc all tlint remain of my 
once i)rincely patrimony." 

" It is joy and pride enough to be a native of 
this ^rlnrious country," cried Randolph, entliusi- 
astically. 

Carlo, the introduction finished, retired to re- 
sume the broken thread of his si'psfa. 

The two young men engaged in an animated 
conversation — antiquities, painting, sculpture, 
music, the opera, wore discussed with taste and 
interest. Tlic chevalier was so fluent and fasci- 
nating that time rolled on unperceivcd, till Ran- 
dolph all at once noticed that the sky was grow- 
ing dark with night. 

" It is time we shoidd return to Naples," he 
said. 

" Yes," cried tlio stranger, in a loud voice, 
springing to his feet. " The hour has arriced!" 

In an instant the grove was filled with armed 
banditti, and the muzzles of a dozen carbines 
were levelled at the head of tlie American. 
Randolph drew a pistol, but before he could 
cock it, it was snatched from his hand by the 
chevalier. 

"Who are you, scoundrel?" cried Randolph, 
in choice Italian. 

"You are- complimentary, excellency, to a 
gentleman who had the honor of an introduction 
from a friend of yours." 

" The introduction was either forged or stolen," 
retorted Randolph. 

" Right," replied tlie stranger. 

" Of course you are not the Chevalier Colon- 
na — " 

" The sole representative of a once great 
name," interrupted the stranger, laughingly 
quoting his own words. "No more than you 
are, signor." 

" Then who arc you ?" cried Randolph, stamp- 
ing his foot impatiently. 

The stranger raised himself to his fuU height, 
and fixing his eagle glance upon the young 
American, replied: 

" Men call me Fra Diavoh!" 

" A leader of footpads and cutthroats !" said 
Randolph, scornfully. " Well, the chance is 
yours. Take my money and my watch. Here 
are two or three rings of value — take all, and rid 
me of your presence." 

A crimson glow flushed the swarthy cheek of 
the robber at the first words of his prisoner, and 
the fingers of his right hand convulsively clutch- 
ed the hilt of his stiletto ; but tlie flush passed 
away, leaving his cheek of its natural sallow hue, 
while the fire in his eyes gave way to an expres- 
sion almost pensive and sad. 

" Y'oung man," he said, "it is evident you 
know me not, and form but a stranger's estimate 
of my character. I am no footpad or assassin. 
If I were the first, I should not bid you retain 
your property ; if I were the second, I should 
not withhold the command to fire. Look on 
these men — every eye glances along a carbine 
barrel straight to your heart; there is a finger 
on every trigger. A word of mine would con- 
sign you to instant death !" 

Fra Diavolo, for it was indeed that celebrated 
bandit, enjoyed the involuntary shudder which 
even the brave Randolph could not suppress as he 
marked the deadly preparations around ; then, at 
a wave of his hand, the robbers recovered their 
pieces, 

" If you refuse my money," said Randolph, 
" you will suffer me to mount my horse and re- 
turn to Naples." 

" Excuse mc," said Fra Diavolo. " Y''ou are 
a gallant young fellow, and I have taken a fancy 
to you. You must up with me to the mountains, 
and see how we Italian outlaws live." 

"Impossible!" said Randolph, thinking with 
agony of a separation from his betrotlicd ; " there 
are those in the city I cannot leave. Hark 3'ou, 
I am rich ; name the price of my liberty, and 
however large the ransom, I will send it }ou by 
a sure hand." 

" Who will be your messenger?" asked the 
robber chief. 

" Carlo, the lazzaroni." 

" Umph !" muttered the robber; "lie knows 
our haunts, for we have trusted him. Go, Mat- 
teo," he added to his lieutenant, " find out Car- 
lo, and secure this gentleman's horse, and bring 
them both hither." 

During the absence of his ofllccr, he said, ad- 
dressing his prisoner : 



"Your ofter is temjiting; and wci'c I alono 
concerned in this affair, I might accept it. But 
it cannot be. In fact, your liberty wa.s the prize 
of this adventure. You must go with us," 

" Yon have an accomplice, then," cried Ran- 
dolph, eagerly. "Some enemy of mine; and 
yet there is hut one man at Naples I can suspect 
of proninling an attempt njmn my liberty. Is 
it Count Fialto ?" 

The robber's countenance bore the keen ficm- 
tiny of his prisoner's glance without quailing, 

" Comit Fialto!" he replied, with a smile, 
" Well, yon are wicle enough of the mark," 

Here the lieutenant returned, out of breath. 

"Captain," said he, "Carlo has aliKcondcd, 
and doubtless earned off the signer's Iiorse, I 
could find nothing of either." 

" He deserts me, too," thought Randolph. 

" Malediction !" cried the robber chief, " No 
matter; Carlo is true, I think. But we must 
march, comrades. It is not .safe for robbers to 
remain on ground where cavalry can manoiuvre ; 
and yet, the last time they came against us, Mat- 
teo, we emptied a few saddles, I believe." 

The lieutenant smiled grimly, and nodded his 
head ; and then the robbers, foiming closely 
around Randolph, hurried liim along through 
winding paths, till they began to ascend, and 
were soon far enough from the city. 



The following morning dawned upon the sum- 
mit of a wild eminence, where, amid crags and 
woods, the robber chief had, like an eagle, built 
his mountain nest. The banditti were sleeping 
on their arms, except a few who were posted a.-s 
sentinels at various points. Fra Diavolo and 
his prisoner were both awake. 

" You made but a sorry meal last night, sig- 
nor," said the chieftain. "A cup of wine would 
have cheered up your spirits ; but, to say the 
truth, my last skin was exhausted yestemoon." 

Randolph made an inarticulate reply, for his 
mind was far away with Ninctta in her lonely 
home. 

At this moment, a shrill whistle far below was 
answered from point to point, as if by the moim- 
tain echoes. 

The next moment, emerging from a wooded 
path, a male and a female peasant, gaily dressed 
in their lioliday attire, came towards the chief- 
tain, bending under the weight of heavy wine- 
skins. 

"Halloo!" cried the chieftain; "come you 
from Mazetti ?" 

" Y^es, please your excellency," cried the man. 

" He gave you the passwords ?" 

The jieasant nodded. 

"And this girl?" 

" Is my sister, please your excellency." 

" A right comely damsel," cried the robber. 
" She shall give me a kiss ere I taste her wine," 

But the pea.<!ant maid shrunk back, and clung 
trembling to her brother. 

"Nay, nay," said the robber; "Fra Diavolo 
never forced his attentions on a woman. Y'"ou 
are safe here, pretty maiden, as in your own cot- 
tage. What, ho! comrades; up, up, here's 
wine enough for all I But hold, fellow, is all 
safe below?" 

" Mazetti bade mc tell your excellency that all 
is quiet." 

" Then call in all the sentinels, Matteo, and 
let us be mcny together." 

The robbers grouped themselves together on 
the grass; the peasants unpacked their stores, 
and tlie wine and jest went round the bandit 
group. 

What was there in the air of the peasant girl 
that sent a thrill to the heart of Randolph ? Her 
hair, unlike the raven tresses of Ninetta, had the 
rich auburn hue that Titian loved to paint; her 
face and arms were sunburnt ; but there was 
something in the form of her features — some- 
thing in one tender glance she shot upon him 
that reminded him of his beloved. And her 
companion ; he was trimly dressed and neatly 
shaved, and yet a certain something in his air 
reminded Randolph of Carlo. 

" Y'ou don't drink," said the chieftain, offer- 
ing Randolph his cup. 

" I've just filled for the signor," said the pea- 
sant girl, putting a cup in Randolph's hand. In 
doing so she stooped and whispered in his ear; 
"Drink none of /(('i wine. I will take care of 
you." 

" Yonr health, signor," said Randolph, bow- 
ing. 

" My pretty maid," said Fra Diavolo, gazing 
on the peasant girl with admiration, " 1 dispens- 
ed Willi a kiss from those ros}' lips; bu you 
must pay ibrfeit. Y'ou dance, 1 suppose?" 



GLEASON'S riCTOPJAL DRAAVITsTx ROOM COMPANION. 



" Only with my brother here." 

" Very good," said the robber. " Then -while 
we dnnk, you two shall dance. What shall it 
bcl" 

" The Spanish bolero," answered the peasant 
girl. 

" As for music," said the brig:and, "here's a 
guitar, hut I don't know the bolero." 

"Excuse me," said Randolph, "but if you 
will hand me the instrument, I think I can recall 
tixe air." 

As he swept his fingers over the strings, the 
peasants dashed into the graceful and lively 
Spanl-^h dance, executing it to the admiration of 
tlic spectators. 

"Encora, Encora!" shouted Fra Diavolo. 
" Once more the bolero !" 

" Be ready," said the peasant, to Randolph, 
" to commence the air when I give tlie signal." 

"iVofC (s the time!" he shouted, in a loud voice. 

In an instant, twenty carbineers sprang from 
as many points of the surrounding forest on tlie 
astounded brigands. The robbei-s seized their 
arras and sprang to their feet, but the wine they 
had di-utdv freely had been drugged, and the 
shots they fired were wild and harmless. Fling- 
ing down their carbines, they took to tlieir 
knives, but a spell seemed playing upon them, 
and their poignards fell from their nerveless 
grasps. Fra Diavolo alone oft'ercd a desperate 
resistance. 

Early in the conflict the peasant had seized 
Randolph, and, with the peasant girl, hunied 
him to a place of comparative safety. 

" Excellency," said the peasant, "don't you 
know mc V 

■ " That voice !" cried tlie bewildered Randolph ; 
" it should be Carlo's." 

" Yes, excellency, Carlo, the lazzaroni, who 
sacrificed his darling beard and rags for the sake 
of saving you, who oven w;ished liimself for your 
sake, excellency," he added, in touching allusion 
to the extent of his sacrifice. " Wlien I found 
you in their hands," he added, " I found I could 
do nothing better than carry news of tlie surprise 
to the city ; so I mounted your horse and es- 
caped, I warned the authorities, but it was too 
late to do anything that night, and besides I 
knew enough of Fra Diavolo to know he would 
not harm yon. In the morning the commandant 
agreed to place a company of carbineers under 
my guidance. I knew the haunts of the robbers, 
and led them directly to the spot." 

" But Ninetta — how is Ninetta ?" cried Ran- 
dolph, eagerly. 

"Let her answer for herself," replied Carlo, 
pointing to his companion. 

She had torn the false tresses from her head, 
and the peasant girl, now transformed into Nin- 
etta Castelli, stood smiling on her lover. 

" And you could dare so much for me !" cried 
Randolph, folding her in liis anns. " I owe you 
eternal gratitude." 

The conflict had now ceased ; and when Ran- 
dolph and his companions returned to the scene 
of action, they found Fra Diavolo and his band 
in the hands of the carbineers. The robber 
chieftain cast a vcngefnl and menacing glance at 
Carlo, but refused to speak a word. The whole 
party now took up the line of march for Naples, 
Fra Diavolo being placed in the centre of the 
column. 

On the tiial of the celebrated robber. Count 
Fialto, at wliose instigation the brigands had 
carried off Randolph, was sufficiently implicated 
to secure him a life-sentence to the galleys. Fra 
Diavolo was condemned to death, but on the eve 
of the execution of liis sentence, contrived to 
effect his escape and retreat to the mountains. 
By many it was thought that the authorities, 
dreading the vengeance of his comrades, had 
connived at his evasion. 

Randolph, mamed to Ninetta, returned with 
his bride and Iier father to America, whither 
Carlo, the lazzaroni, accompanied him as a ser- 
vant. He makes a very acceptable valet, though 
he is somewhat given to laTiiness and maccaroni, 
and is fond of telling very long-winded stories 
of adventures in the environs of Naples. Fra 
Diavolo pursued liis career for some years long- 
er, but was finally captured and condemned, we 
believe, to imprisonment for life. 



I have seen persons who gather in the parlor 
choicest flowers, just as they begin to open into 
full bloom and fragrance, "lest some passer-by 
should tear' them from the bu^h and destroy 
tliem. Does not God sometimes gather into 
heaven young and innocent children for the same 
]Ta.=:on— lest some rude hand may despoil them 
of their beauty ? 



[Written for Glcason^s Pictorial.] 

THE INDIAN MAIDEN: 

— OR — 

KINDXESS REWAEDED. 



BY 5IItS. M. E. ROBINSON. 

About the year 1763, the celebrated chieftain 
Pontiac, with a large number of warriors, wo- 
men and cliildren, encamped at Detroit, in the 
vicinity of a fort garrisoned by three hundred 
men, and commanded by Major Gladwin. From 
the fii-st, amicable relations had been established, 
and so raueh friendliness and good will had been 
manifested on the part of the Indians that tlie 
entire confidence and trust of the commander 
had been gained. Unrestricted trade Avas car- 
ried on, for the former brought many commodi- 
ties wliich they seemed anxious to dirposc of, 
and which were not unacceptable to the garrison 
for the supply of their wants. 

One day, soon after their encampment. Major 
Gladwin was within the fort, conferring with one 
of the oflicei-s respecting a measure upon which 
he was undecided, when a messenger from their 
new neighbors was announced. Orders were 
given for his admittance, and immediately a tall, 
majestic -looking Indian made his appearance. 

" What does my red brother wish?" said the 
major, after the usual foniialilies of greeting had 
been interchanged. 

" I come from the great war-chief Pontiac," 
he replied. " Last night our chiefs and waniors 
sat long over the council fire. Thej' talked of 
you, brother." 

" Return my thanks for the remembrance," 
rejoined Gladwin, as the Indian paused, as il' 
awaiting some reply. 

" Tlie great chief would be on still more 
friendly terms with his white brothers. He 
would eat with him ; he would drink with him, 
and with him would smoke the pipe of peace," 
resumed the red man. " He is not unmindful of 
the kindness of the pale faces, and in person 
would make new promises of friendship, and 
speak his thanks. This is his message. Shall 
bis wish be granted V 

" Assuredly," answered the commandant, with- 
out the least hesitation. " I am grateful for this 
new instance of fiiendship on tlie part of your 
cliief, and willingly assent to a meeting which 
will tend to strengthen the bonds of brotherhood 
and make still brighter the chaiu of peace be- 
tween us. To-monow, at ten, we will be in 
readiness." 

" The wliite chief is good," said the Indian, 
with dignity. " It is well ; I will return to my 
people," and turning abruptly he left the fort. 

Major Gladwin congratulated himself on this 
additional instance of good will on the part of 
Pontiac, for it augured well for the future, and 
he knew the advantages of remaining on good 
terms with such a powerful chief too well to let 
an opportunity pass of satisfying them of his 
peaceable intentions. He was not sorry they 
were to meet, as he surmised such a measure 
could not have otherwise than a good effect; it 
would indeed "brighten the Ihiks in the golden 
chain of peace," and put them on a more famil- 
iar footing with each other. 

He was sitting, engaged in tlicse reflections, 
wlien he felt a liglit touch on his shoulder. 
Turning, he beheld a beautiful Indian maiden 
standing quietly by liis side. 

" Ah, Minnis !" he exclaimed, cordially grasp- 
ing her hand and smiling a welcome. "How 
you startled mc ! But you are as light of step 
as ever ; that is why I was unaware of your 
presence. TVTiat news to-day?" 

The maiden smiled somewhat sadly, and for 
answer drew a pair of beautiful moecasons from 
beneath lier blanket, and with native grace, ten- 
dered tliem to tlie major. On a previous visit 
the latter had shown Minnis a curious elk skin, 
which she immediately offered to form into some- 
thing useful as well as ornamental, and this was 
the result. 

"They are beautiful, Minnis, very beautiful," 
said the commandant, earnestly, as he admiring- 
ly surveyed the ornamental workmanship. "I 
did not know you could make such pretty ones. 
I fear they cost you much time and labor." 

"If they plea.'^c my white brother, I am glad. 
It was the best the poor Indian maiden could 
do," she replied. 

" They do indeed please me, and I only fear I 
shall not be able to repay you," added the ma- 
jor. And saying this, he attempted to place a 
piece of money within her hand. But slie al- 



most indignantly di-ew back, and peremptorily 
refused it. 

"Minnis wishes no reward. Tlie white chief 
has been kind to her, and the red maiden can 
show gratitude as well as her white sisters," was 
her proud rejily. 

"Well, then, if you will not receive money, I 
can, at least, thank you. And I shall insist that 
you keep the remainder of the skin which you 
have so conscientiously returned, and make a 
pair for your own use," he added. 

" As my white brother pleases," was the brief 
reply, as she mechanically took the skin. But 
the Indian maiden seemed reluctant to leave the 
room ; her movements were slow and unwilling, 
and when Gladwin looked up and found himself 
alone, he could not but remember her sad, wist- 
ful, earnest looks, and her unusually melancholy 
appearance. This was unlike her, for she was 
generally in buoyant spirits, and quite talkative 
during lier visits to the wliites. The major had 
taken an unusual interest in the maiden, for she 
was intelligent, apt, as well as beautiful in per- 
son, and manifested an uncommon desh-e to ac- 
quire a knowledge of civilized life. 

As night came on, and tlie guard (whose bu- 
siness it was to close the gates and see that no 
strangers were left within), were performing their 
duty, word was brought to the commandant 
that an Indian woman was lurking about the 
fort. He directed them, in some sm*prise, to 
conduct her to his presence, which was immedi- 
ately done. 

" Minnis !" he exclaimed, in astonishment. " I 
thought it was a stranger, as I imagined you had 
left some hours ago." 

" It is only me, brother," she replied. 

" And why do you linger 1 The gates will 
soon be shut for the night. Can I do aught for 
you?" asked the major, kindly. 

" I did not wish to take away the skin, as the 
white chief values it so highly," she answered, 
with evident embaiTassmcnt. 

" But you did not make this objection before," 
he added, quickly. " I do not quite understand 
you, Minnis." 

The maiden seemed confused at this remark, 
and dropped her eyes under the earnest gaze of 
her interrogator. 

" If I take the skin away to-night, tlic great 
captain will never see that or tlie poor Indian 
maiden again," she at last uttered, after a most 
painful pause. 

" And why not ?" was the astonished query. 

The maiden answered not, but looked quickly 
and suspiciously about the room, and then with 
noiseless step crossed the apartment and closed 
the door, which was slightly ajar. This done, 
she returned to her former jjlace. 

" I don't know what to think of this. Your 
conduct sadly puzzles mc," said the major, who 
had attentively observed all these singular move- 
ments, and thought he detected a desire on tlic 
part of Minnis to say sonietliing, were she not 
restrained by some powerful emotion. " Do not 
fear to tell me anT,ihing wliich you may consider 
as important for mc to know, for you can fully 
confide in me," he added, kindly. " You may 
unhesitatingly reveal it, and will run no risk of 
betrayal." 

" Did not one of my people visit you to-day ?" 
she asked, still looking cautiously around, as 
though expecting one of her tribe to rise up be- 
fore her with flashing eyes and revengeful looks. 

" Yes ; Pontiac sent a messenger, requcsthig 
to meet me in council, for the purpose of strength- 
ening our friendship, and to-morrow was named 
a fitting time," was the rejoinder. 

" It is a plot ; Pontiac has decreed that the 
pale faces shall perish before another sun sinks 
in the west!" she whispered, while her slioht 
figure trembled with fear. 

"Tell me all — tell me quickly !" cried Glad- 
win, much excited. "And if you fear harm, 
protection and safety will always be afforded you 
here." 

" To-morrow, when my people shall come to 
have a talk, they will speak fair, but yet be wary 
and cunning ; and if my white brothers be not 
on their guard, the knife and tomahawk will do 
their work !" said Minnis, in a low, hunied tone. 

" And is there not some signal agreed upon?" 
earnestly asked the major. 

" My people will come to the council with their 
guns shortened, that tliey may conceal them be- 
neath their blankets ; and v^ hen the war-chief is 
making liis speech, and draws fortli his peace 
belt of wampum and presents it to the great cap- 
tain, then will they fall upon him and his men." 

" I have never doubted the sincerity of your 



friendship for the whites, and this noble instance 
of fiiithfulness confirms it," added Gladwin, with 
much feeling. " I can only repeat my thanks 
for the important service you have rendered me. 
Should your people discover that you liave ever 
liintcd this thing to me, I tremble for your safe- 
ty; you will have nothing to hope and everv- 
thing to fear. I do not need to say that if yon 
will remain with us, your happiness and well 
being will be my care ; and if you go, my good 
wishes will go with you." 

" I will go," replied Minnis, briefly ; and after 
a few more questions on the part of the major, 
she was conducted without the fort, and the gates 
securely closed. 

After imparting this important discovery to 
his officers and men, the commandant immedi- 
ately began to make preparations for defence. 
He repeated as much of the plot as he thought 
necessaiy to the garrison, and instnictcd them 
how to act at the approaching council. He also 
sent messengers to all the traders in the vicinity 
of the fort, with directions to be upon their 
guard. 

It was most fortunate that he liad been appria- 
ed of the treacherous plot soon enough to allow 
him ample time for preparation ; for the Indian 
girl had added, as she left his presence, that 
while the " council " was sitting, many of the 
warriors would assemble within the fort, armed 
alike, on the pretence of trading. Being "fore- 
warned " they could be " fore-armed," and this 
could be prevented. 

Although Major Gladwin had no particular 
fears for the result, yet when the morning dawn- 
ed, and he anxiously cast his eyes towards the 
neighboring encampment, he looked ill at ease. 
In fact, every countenance wore a different as- 
pect, and uneasiness of mind was plainly visible 
in the quick, hun-ied step and nervous glances ; 
though it liad been decided that they should ap- 
pear to manifest no suspicion in the presence of 
the Indians. 

Ten o'clock had been agreed upon as the hour 
for the council ; and as the hands upon the dial 
indicated its nearness, every eye was turned in 
the direction of the Indian neighborhood. . Punc- 
tual to the time, Pontiac, witli his thirty-six chiefs 
and a long train of warriors, made their ajapear- 
ance. Gladwin received them with his usual 
urbanity, and when a stipulated number had en- 
tered, the gates were closed. 

Pontiac seemed somewhat sui-prised at per- 
ceiving the troops under arms, and keenly scru- 
tinized them, looking, as the commandant 
thought, slightly disappointed. 

" Why does the big captain make so much 
parade ?" asked the chief, of Gladwin. " I come 
to talk and smoke, not to fight with my white 
brothers." 

" Certainly, certainly," answered the major, 
blandly. " But the great chief knows that the 
men must be exercised in time of peace as well 
as in war." 

Pontiac bowed gravely, seeming satisfied with 
the answer, the major's frank demeanor left no 
room for suspicion. After the customarv cere- 
monies, Pontiac commenced his speech, and 
after a long tirade, highly complimenting the 
whites, and hoping for a continuance of their 
friendship, he lowered his hand to give the desig- 
nated signal — that of drawing forth tlie belt of 
wampum. 

At that instant the chief looked up, and dis- 
covered the major and his attendants in the act 
of drawing their swords from their scabbards ; 
while the ti'oops, clenching their guns with finn- 
ness, and assuming attitudes of defence, assured 
him that his well laid plot was suspected, if not 
entirely understood. With all his bravery, the 
chieftain became confused, while every Indian 
showed unmistakable signs of astonishment. 

Finding tiie scheme brought to light, and wish- 
ing to avoid an open discovery, the' ceremony of 
passing the belt was omitted, and Pontiac closed 
his speech with many profes:.ions of friendship 
for the English. 

The commandant arose to reply. He did not 
reproach Pontiac for his treachery, but frankly 
told him he could not ensnare tliein ; they knew 
his whole plan, and were prepared for any emer- 
gency. 

The chief, now that he had regained his pres- 
ence of mind, endeavored to excuse himself, and 
convince the major that they were still good 
friends to the whites, and wished to remain so. 

The latter made no reply ; but stepping to the 
_^ warrior next him, drew aside his blanket, and 
-pointed to the short gun which thus became ex- 
posed. This silent proof of their faithlessness 
was so evident that it covered them with confusion. 

Gladwin ordered Pontiac to leave tlie fort, or 
he would not answer for the consequences, as the 
indignation of the garrison had alreadv begun to 
manifest itself. The chief, with his discomfited 
followers, did not wait for a second permission, 
but quickly departed without a word. As the 
last disappeared, and the gates were onec more 
securely fastened, a sensation of gratitude filled 
every heart within the walls of tlie fort. Nor 
did they forget thatthey owed their almost mirac- 
ulous escape from certain death to Miuufs, the 
red daughter of the forest. 



GLEASON'S PlCTOrJAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 




JAP/VNESE MARRIAGE CEREMONIES. 



CUSTOMS AND COSTUIVIES OF JAPAN. 

At the present moment, wlien the empire of 
Japan and its people have been brouoht so prom- 
inently before the attention of the pnblie, through 
the action of the government ofthc United States 
in sending an armed expedition to endeavor 
to open the ports of 
that nation to our 
commerce, it is -with 
pleasure that we pre- 
sent to om- readers a 
series of views illus- 
trative of the customs 
of that most singular 
people. It must be 
borne in mind that 
information in regard 
to the Japanese is 
difficult to be had, 
from the fact that their 
ports are liermetically 
sealed against the en- 
trance of foreigners, 
so that we possess lit- 
tle that is reliable. — 
The following state- 
ments may, however, 
be regarded as au- 
thentic. The Japan- 
ae are a mixed race 
of Mongul and Malay 
origin. Their lan- 
guage is polysylla- 
bic, and has an alpba- 
"bet of forty-seven let- 
ters, which are written 
in five different forms, 
one of which is used 
exclusively by the 
men, and another by 
the women. The peo- 
ple of this nation are 
well made, active, free 
and easy in their mo- 
tions, and stout limb- 
ed. The men are mid- 
dle sized, and in gen- 
eral not corpulent, 
yellow eonii)lexions, 
oblong black eyes, 
which are deeply sunk 
in the head ; short 
and flat noses, broad 
head and black hair. 
Tliey arc said to be 
an intelligent and pro- 
vident people, inquisi- 
tive and ingenious, 
frank and good liu- 
morcd, upright and 
honest, brave and un- 
yielding, capable of 
concealing their feel- 
ings in an extraordi- 
nai*y degree, but dis- 
trustful, proud, unfor- 



giving and revengeful. The accompanying il- 
lustrations will give the readers of the Pictorial 
a general idea of the customs and manners of 
the people and of their agi-icultural pursuits. 
The first of the series is a representation of their 
marriage ceremony. The bride and groom are 



seen within a small temple erected over a gro- 
tesque idol, who holds in his hand a chain, sym- 
bolical of the binding obligation of matrimony. 
In their hands they hold burning tapers, which 
are crossed in front of the priest who is perform- 
ing the ceremony. On the right of the temple is 




METIIOU OF AGEICULTUllE AMONG TIIE JAPANESE. 



seen the dignitary who gives away the bride, and 
his attendants. "On the left are a party of musi- 
dam, who are perfonnmq upon gongs and other 
musical instruments ; while in the foreground aro 
a party of friends offering up sacrifices to propi- 
tiate the god or idol. Two figures are repre- 
sented bearing aloft 
the emblems of the 
woman's duty and 
obedience, in a rude 
spinning wheel and 
staff. On the left is 
represented their \^'ay 
-,— _-^ of ti-avcUing, on the 

" backs of oxen, and in 

rude carts, horses be- 
ing very scarce. Their 
maiTiages are con- 
ducted with many ri- 
diculous ceremonies. 
The emperor gives 
the brides to the lords, 
who peifonn the same 
office for their vassals 
AVives are purchased 
of their relations like 
cattle, and have no 
more choice of mas- 
ters than they; hence 
a large family of 
daughtei-s are an ex- 
cellent stock in trade 
to their parents or 
guardians. Afcer the 
jjerformance of the 
ceremony, shown in 
the engraving, the 
party proceeds to tiic 
house of the groom, 
where he most com- 
monly sees his wife's 
face for the fii"st time, 
it havmg been closely 
veiled until now. Her 
teeth are now dyed 
black, and (in some 
parts of the empire) 
her eyebrows are sha- 
ved off", and after fes- 
tivity and feasting she 
is waited upon to her 
apartments, where she 
ever after remains in a, 
great measure seclud- 
ed from the world. 

Great attention is 
paid to agriculture 
among the Japanese, 
and it meets with con- 
siderable encourage- 
ment from govcrr- 
ment. Kice is the 
principal grain, wheat 
and the other corial 
grains being but little 
grown , 0\\ the other 



GLEASON'S PICTOPJAL DRAWING EOOM COMPANION. 



9 




JAPANESE MAN AND AVOMAN OF RANK. 



JAPANESE COUNTRY PEOPLE. 



plains trenches are dug at right angles and intersecting cacli other, for the 
pui-posc of thoroughly irrigating the land. The rice is planted in April, 
in beds between the trenches, and is gathered in November, and from the 
thorough and unniitigating attention given to its culture, yields a large 
and highly remunerative crop, liice is to the Japanese what potatoes are 
to the Irish, and com to the Yankee — his staple. Every inch of ground, 
even to the sides of steep mountains, are rendered available by building- 
stone walls, which are filled in "with earth until they present level plat- 
forms, whereon their gardens arc planted. Our second illusti-ation repre- 
sents their mode of plowing and threshing, the latter operation being 
sometimes pevfonned by beating the grain against upright posts, and at 
others by being threshed on mats with a flail having three swingles. In 
the background is represented a steep acclivity, on the sides of which may 
be seen some of the artificial gardens above noticed. 

The dress of the Japanese consists generally of a short upper garment 
with wide sleeves, and a long under dress reaching to the heels, after the 
fashion of ladies of our own land, except that they are not so full, 
which renders the action of their lower limbs very much constrained. 
Great pains arc taken with the hair, which is oiled and gathered in a tuft 
on the top of the head. The only difference between the costume of tlic 
upper and lower classes is that the gai-ments of tlie former are of silk, 
beautifully embroidered, while those of the latter are of coai'se stufi^, and 
allow of more freedom of movement. The accompanjnng cuts represent 
a man and woman of high rank, and two rustiL:?, on^. of whom is mounted 
on a species of buffalo, which is much used by the lower classes as a beast 




JAPANESE PRAYING MACHINE. 



of burden. The Japanese wear no hats, except the higher orders, who 
when exposed for any time to the sun's rays, are accompanied by a ser- 
vant, who carries a conical cap made of paper, as shown in the engraving, 
which covers the upper part of their master's or mistress's person. 

Our small illustration represents the praying machine of the Japanese. 
Every mountain, hill or clift" on the high road is consecrated to some di- 
vinity, and travellers in passing these arc compelled to repeat several 
prayers at each. To save time, however, an ujjright post is erected, in 
the upper end of which is an iron plate, on which prayers are engraved, 
and which turns like a sheave in a block. To turn this round is equiva- 
lent to repeating the prayer. Hence a person with a powerful arm can 
repeat any number of prayers by giving the plate a vigorous turn. 

The funeral ceremony of the Japanese difl^ers but little from many other 
Oriental nations. When a prince or great man dies, it is customary for 
ten or twenty youths, who were members of his household, to put them- 
selves to a voluntary death at the place of burning. The funeral pile 
consists of odoriferous woods, gums, spices, oils, etc., and as soon as it is 
liglited, the relatives and friends cast upon it offerings of clotlis, arms, 
food, money, flowers, etc., imagining they will be of some service to the 
dead in the other world. The mausolea in which the ashes of the o-reat are 
deposited, are generally very magnificent, and arc situated at some dis- 
tance from the towns. One of them is shown in the background of the 
ilhistration below. The middle and lower orders bury their dead with no 
other ceremonies than burning some odoriferous woods and giims Period- 
ical visits are paid to the tombs, and festivities are held in honor to the dead. 




FUNERAL CEREMONIES OF THE JAPANESE. 



10 



GLEASON'S PICTOllIAL DRAWING llOOM COMPANION. 



[Written for GIcoboq'a Pictorliil] 

MATT1IP]W ALWIN: 

— OH — 

TTTK ADDUCTION. 
A TALE OF NAPOLEON'S TIME. 

BT E. CUnT188 HINE, U. 3. N. 

Little (lidst thou (Ircftin, when dnflhing 
Oil tliy wai'-linrw tln■oll^'ll the mnkfl, 
Liko n Htrotmi wliirh burnt its biinkfl, 

■\Vliil.- h.-lmi'ls rlrl't, iiiul HiiliruH i'lnntiliie, 
.Sliiiiir :ii)<l ."liivi'i'i'il I'liMt ai-ounil tlicc, 
Of till' fiito lit Inst wliich foimil thco. — Byron. 

It WU3 ii wild mid rug:god scene among tlie 
pourinp: Alps. A dark ravine or f^orgc ivoniid 
like some immense serpent among tlic overhang- 
ing erags and jutting cliffs, ■which frowned upon 
tlie plain that stretched fur away into the dim 
horizon of " la belle France." Many a wild cas- 
cade rushed with impetuous force adown the 
granite sides of the vast mountain, and their 
hoarse voices rose upon the air like the low growl 
of distant thunder, and resounded among the 
echoing caves and sunless glens with a hollow 
and unearthly roar. 

At the bottom of tliis winding ravine a rugged 
road had been shaped by the hands of that great 
army which the eagle-eyed Napoleon was now 
lending on to crush )us Austrian foes. It was in 
this place but a narrow pathway, from which the 
rocks had been with immense labor rolled down- 
ward to the plain, but itcnabled the armed hordes 
who bore the eagles of the young republic to pass 
onward to the scene of strife and the field of fame 
and glory. Even now, the countless legions of 
the great army of Italy had crossed by means of 
this rugged pathway the snow-crowned summit 
of the Alps, and were encamped ou the other 
side, from which towering height their young 
leader could look downward upon the vine-clad 
hills and vales of the land of promise. Immense 
forests of heavy timber prevented his troops from 
being discovered in their encampment by the 
enemy, and the Frenchmen were now enjoying 
a season of repose from their severe toil, ere tliey 
descended the steeps of the mountain and pounced 
upon their prey. 

It was near the sunset of a gusty day, and 
shadows already began to settle upon the dark 
ravine which furrowed the side of the towering 
Alps. A solitary horseman slowly advanced 
along the pass, evidently with the intention of 
reaching a small inn which an adventurous Sa- 
voyard had erected some three miles up the wind- 
ing ascent of the mountain. He was a man ap- 
parently in the prime and vigor of life, with a 
frame at once sinewy and hardy, and his features 
were regular and pleasing. The eye in particu- 
lar, black and flashing, was extremely fine ; and 
his whole appearance was that of a man who 
would not shrink from danger, should it choose 
to cross his path. He was dressed in a plain suit 
of black cloth, with no ornament save a droop- 
ing ostrich plume in his round hat, but suspended 
from a belt around his waist was a heavy sabre, 
which jingled in its iron scabbard as the steed 
picked his way along the rocky and uneven road. 

"Well, by Jove! I must be near the spot, 
judging from the description given me at St. 
C}T. But it seems as if I was never to come to a 
stopping-place," soliloquized the horseman, at the 
same time gazing anxiously through the thick 
forest trees that hemmed him in, and along the 
narrow and winding road as far as circumstances 
would permit ; " if I should not succeed in reach- 
ing the inn to-night, I should be compelled to 
camp out here under the trees, with the blue sky 
for an overcoat. A mighty chilly one it would 
prove to me, too, if I'm not mistaken. But hal- 
loo ! who comes here ?" 

This interrogation was elicited by the sudden 
appearance of another horseman, slowly descend- 
ing the rugged mountain road, and who had just 
come into view by an abnipt turn of the thor- 
oughfare. The new-comer was mounted on a 
spirited-looking horse but apparently jaded, for 
he hung his head and plodded onward as if the 
reminiscence of a comfortable stable was flitting 
before his vision, to the exclusion of every other 
object, for he frequently stumbled against the 
points of rocks which the sappers of the army 
had not entirely removed fiom the road. Tlic 
rider was a young man ; to judge from his ap- 
pearance, not move than six or scvcn-and-twonty 
years of age, and he sat erect in his saddle, as if 
accustomed to its use. His lithe and agile form 
was closely enveloped in a huge gray overcoat 
buttoned to the chin, whieh completely hid hi.s 
imder garments from obseiwation ; but his top- 
bootH drawn over his trousers, and his gilded 



spurs, bespoke him a man of some little property, 
for none but the wealthier classes at tliat peiiofl 
indulged in such luxuries as long boots. On his 
Jiead was set n little jaunty three-cornered hat, 
entirely devoid of ornament, and in one of his 
gloved hands he bore a heavy riding whip, while 
the other grasped in a careless manner the reins 
of the bridle. His features, without being abso- 
lutely handsome, were eminently striking, and 
the broad, open brow, though partly shaded by 
the little cocked hat, looked as if it contained no 
little intellect. It was not long ere the two triiv- 
cllcrs met. 

" Can you tell me, my friend," inquired the 
first of these horsemen, thus introduecd to the 
reader, "how far it may chance to be to a little 
inn, kept by one Monsieur La Grange, I think 
they call him ! I have been expecting to reach 
the place for the last hour, but I sec no signs of 
it as yet." 

*' Hum ! it seems we arc in the same predica- 
ment," replied the other. " I, too, am desirous 
of finding that inn, but I think — nay, I am al- 
most certain that I have passed it. I am some- 
what subject to fits of absent-mindedness, and 
albeit I am very anxious to reach my goal, I'll 
wager ray life that I am now some distance be- 
yond it. I have overshot my mark. If you are 
intending to stop for the night at the same place 
I will turn about, and we will journey together 
to the spot." 

*' I should be happy to do so," replied the 
other ; and, spurring their wearied steeds, the 
two riders advanced side by side along the nar- 
row, steep and rugged pathway. 

'* It was a grand undertaking on the part of 
Napoleon, to construct this road over the Alps," 
said the first horseman, " and it seems as if that 
young man is destined to make his mark before 
he dies." 

" Ah ! you think so, do you "? " replied the 
other, bending his bright, keen eye upon him ; 
" and, pray, what may liavc induced you to come 
to that conclusion ?" 

" His bravery in quelling the revolt of the sec- 
tions in Paris, and his genius as exhibited upon 
the bui-ning plains of Eg'^qit, where the silent pyr- 
amids resounded to tiie voice of his heavy can- 
non, and his victorious army nished upon the 
terrified Mamelukes like some mighty river that 
has burst its banks." 

" You seem to be an admirer of Bonaparte," 
diyly remarked he of the gray coat. 

" Do 1 1 Perhaps if you knew all 3'ou would 
not speak so confidently in regard to the matter. 
So far from admiring him, although I honor his 
genius, I have reason to hate and despise him 
from the bottom of my heart. Is he not the en- 
emy of my country V 

" Your country !" replied the other, in a tone 
of amazement; "surely you are a Frenchman, 
and Napoleon never could prove an enemy to 
France." 

" You think me a Frenchman, because I speak 
the language so fluently, but I am an English- 
man, and am on important business. In fact I 
have been selected for the duty in hand princi- 
pally because I have such a perfect knowledge 
of the Gallic tongue." 

" And what might this important business be ?" 
inquired the other, fixing his eyes steadily upon 
the Englishman. 

"Ah ! tluit's a secret which I am not at liberty 
to divulge." 

" Perhaps I might be able to render you some 
assistance. I too am one of the worst enemies 
of Napoleon Bonaparte." 

" That indeed alters the case. And were I to 
reveal my plans to you, would you assist me in 
carrying them into execution 1" 

"Yes," replied the other, promptly, "if it is 
anything in the shape of seizing Napoleon, I'm 
with you. I should feel a very deep interest in 
regard to such an undertaking." 

" You look honest, my friend, and I think I 
can venture to trust yovi," said the Englishman. 
"Listen, then. I have been selected by one of 
the members of the government at Paris, wlio 
wishes, for reasons of his own, to get Napoleon 
out of the way, to proceed to his camp, whieh I 
suppose must now be somewhere on the other 
side of the mountain, and, after enlisting as a 
volunteer for the army, to watch my o])porlunil-y 
and shoot him, as he appears upon parade, or if 
no such chance offers, to clip hi.'! wings in the 
midst of some battle. Under such circumstances 
it would be a dilKeult matter to ascertain ivho did 
the deed." 

"An excellently contrived plan, truly," said 
the other, after musing for a few moments in si- 



lence. " And will you i)ormit mc to join you in 
yom* ])raiseworthy undci'taking?" 

" With much pleasure, monsiciu'." 

What ,>haU I cull your name?" 

" Matthew Alwin. And yours?" 

"Mine — O — yes! It's of no consequence — 
but you can if you clioosc call mc Mottier." 

" 'Tis well. I am hap])y to have found nn 
ally." 

" And a strong ally you will find mc, my 
friend," quietly rejjlied Mottier. " But look, 
yonder is the light at the window of Monsieur 
La Grange's inn. What a stupid fellow 1 was to 
have passed it. It is a way I have, of i-iding with 
my head down when I am in deep study. So 
my absent-mindedness has caused mc to travel 
much further than I had need to have done. 
However, it seems I am rewarded by being able 
to join in an exciting adventure. Little does 
Napoleon dream of the danger which now men- 
aces him." 

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Ahvin ; " we'll soon 
teach iiim a lesson." 

" Yes, sueli a lesson that he will have cause to 
remember it initil his dying day." 

By this time the two travellers had drawn up 
their wearied steeds in front of the small inn, 
and Mott er was shouting loudly to the inmates. 
In a moment the door opened, and an old man, 
dressed in the garb of a mountaineer, advanced 
and welcomed the guests, and, taking charge of 
their horses, led them away to a rude stable in 
the rear of his house, while the joumeycrs en- 
tered the neat tap-room of the inn. 

It was a small but comfortable house, hastily 
erected, for the accommodation of such few trav- 
ellers as might chance to pass along that newly- 
opened mountain-road ; but it was constructed of 
durable materials, and its few rooms wore an air 
of neatness and comfort which are often vainly 
looked for in inns of more pretension. 

By a wood fire, blazing cheerfully in the huge 
chimney, sat a comely-looking matron, who, to 
judge from her appearance, might have weath- 
ered the calms and storms of hfe for forty years. 
A sedate but pleasant expression rested upon 
her featiu-es, and she seemed cheerful and con- 
tented. At a little distance removed from her 
mother, a lovely young girl was seated knitting, 
and occasionally pausing from her work to look 
up timidly to the faces of the travellers, one of 
whom, to judge from the quick glances of intel- 
ligence that now and then passed between them, 
she had seen before. 

She was a veritable woodland flower — that 
young Agnes La Grange ; and like some lovely 
rose that rears its gentle but modest head, un- 
seen and unappreciated in the midst of some 
great dim and shadowy forest, afar from the 
haunts of man, so did that graceful maiden grow 
up and bloom in fragrance and in beauty, with 
none to pluck it from its parent stem, or crush 
its newly-opened leaves. 

She was now fifteen years of age ; but so rap- 
idly do the young buds of beauty in the sunny 
clime where she was born expand their glowing 
petals, she was already a fully-developed woman. 
And such a form — so lithe, so agile, and so fine- 
ly rounded in every limb ; such an exuberant 
swelling of the finely moulded bust ; such shape- 
ly feet ; such white and tiny hands — albeit no 
jewels sparkled from their snow — they would 
have made the fortune of any sculptor avIio 
could have imitated in deathless marble their 
matchless perfection. Then, too, her face was 
so witchiugly beautiful, and the red blood man- 
tled so luxuriously in her soft, young cheeks, 
while her jet black eyes shone like midnight 
stars in the wintry heavens, or were downcast 
and melancholy, when a shade of sorrow flitted 
over her young heart! A peerless girl was 
Agnes La Grange. 

And so thought Matthew Alwin, if we might 
judge coiTectl}' from the enamored looks which 
he every now and then threw towards her. In 
fact, it seemed utterly impossible for him to keep 
his eyes off her ; and he watched her every move- 
ment, as a cat watches a mouse which she ex- 
pects soon to spring u))on as her prey. And did 
^l^vin — irotdd he anticipate the seizure of that 
young woodland flower, in order tliat he might 
frost-like wither its beauty and its bloom? We 
shall see. 

A plain supper was soon smoking on the hos- 
pitable board, and the two travellers being seat- 
ed, Mottier did ample justice to it, while the 
Englishman, isuUen and reserved, partook of but 
little — although the fair AgncS ministered to his 
wants, and pressed upon him the wholesome 
viands prepared by her own hands. Pei'haps 
this was the reason why he did not cat ; at any 



rate, he .seemed lost in a reverie, and after sitting 
for a few moments, he rose abruptly fi'oin the 
table, and calling for u light, demanded to be 
shown to his apartment. 

No sooner was he alone, than sealing himself 
upon the side of the neat conch prejjared for his 
accommodation, he gave vent to a low and pro- 
tracted whistle — sueh a one as "unco wise" peo 
ydc indulge in, when they sujjposc they Iiavc 
nnidc some important diseovery, and so hug 
themselves upon their own shrcwdncsw. 

" Well, I was devilish near getting myself into 
a pretty scrape, by making known my secrets to 
that sti'ange traveller whom I met, and who I 
supposed might render mc g'reat iLssistunce, if he 
would. It was fortunate for mc that that big 
gray overcoat which he wears so closely I)nttoned 
up, chanced to become unfastened for a moment. 
If I didn't sec the glitter of a gold epanletle un- 
der that gannent, my name's not Alwin. And 
then, how confused he looked, and how <piickly 
he rc-buttoned his outer covering, when he saw 
my eyes bent upon him. I'll lay my life that 
it's one of Bonaparte's subalteni ofliecrs thus dis- 
guised, and that he has been drawing me on in 
his cunning way in order to entrap me. Bnt 
he'll find that I'm not to be canght in his snare. 
I'm too old a fox for that. I shall not go to the 
camp of Napoleon with this newly found ally ; I 
have another scheme in view, and time will 
develop it." 

Having uttered this soliloquy, Alwin, who waa 
much fiitigued by his long day's joumcy, threw 
himself upon the bed, and quickly sunk into a 
sound and dreamless slnmber. In the mean- 
time, how fared it with the other ti-avcUer whom 
we left seated at the table below ? 

After the Englishman had taken his departure 
from the supper room, Mottier still kept his 
seat quietly at the board and continued to eat 
until his hunger was appeased, when, rising from 
the table, the young Agnes cleared off the frag- 
ments of the supper, and having made every- 
thing snug and tidy, she seated hei-self in a chair 
at a little distance from hira, and at once entered 
into conversation. 

" So you have come again, Monsienr, just as 
you promised me you would three weeks ago, 
when you passed with the grand army," archly 
remarked tlie young girl, as she looked up with 
a mischievous twinkle in her eye; "now do you 
know that I thought yon were only flattering me, 
and that I never should behold yonr face again ?" 

"I never break my word," replied Mottier, 
gravel 3'. " I told you that I would retuni within 
three weeks, if only to tell yon how much I ad- 
mire the beauty of my little Alpine rose, and I 
have come as I promised." 

"And it seems have found a rival. Did you 
notice, Victor, how that strange traveller, who 
came hither with you, kept his eyes upon me the 
whole time while I was preparing supper, and 
attending the table. I ought to consider myself 
highly honored by his notice." 

" Hum ! yes ; he is evidently much pleased 
with your beauty. And who could blame him ?" 

" Flatterer ! there you are again ! You are 
enough to turn the head of any young girl with 
your honeyed words ! But who is this stiangor ?" 

" 0, he's a man that I fell in with upon the 
road, and we Iiavc agreed to journey to the camp 
of the army together." 

" He jouniey to the camp ? What in the name 
of all that's wonderful, can he want at the camp ?" 

" He is employed by one of the enemies of 
Bonaparte, at Paris, to proceed to the army, and 
after entering the ranks as a volunteer, he is to 
watch an opportunity and assassinate Napoleon. 
And I have agreed to proceed thither with liim, 
and assist him in his projects. In other words, 
we have formed an alliance." 

The features of the young girl wore a look of 
wonder and astonishment for a moment, and 
then she burst into a hearty laugh, as clear, as 
silvery, and as musical as the sound of a hidden 
brooklet, singing along its flowery banks upon a 
night in June. 

" Well done ! well done ! You no doubt 
would be enabled to afford him every fiicility in 
the prosecution of his enterprise, you know every 
locality so well. He ! he ! he !" 

" Yes, he may find me of some service to him. 
I have some little energy when I undertake a 

thing." 

"Bvt you must keep your coat buttoned, " said 
Agnes, in a low whisper, looking cautiously 
around the apartment. There was no one there 
save themselves, for both fatlier and mother had 
retired. 

" O, don't fear for my pnulcncc, I shall be 
very cautious. And now to other bnsinces. Are 



GLEASOX'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



11 



you prepared to accept the offer I made you 
when I last saw you ? If so, I am prepared to 
renew it." 

" I have thought calmly of it," replied the 
young girl, " since you were here, and I have 
come to tlic conclusion that I cannot comply 
with your request. You would never stoop to 
man-j/ one like mc, and as to accompanying you 
in any other capacity save as your irife, existing 
circumstances, as well as my own inclinations, 
would prevent me." 

" Ah, existing circumstances ! I think I know 
what they are. You are betrothed to a young 
lieutenant now attached to the grand army, by 
the name of PiciTe Landes, and you are deter- 
mined to remani true to him. Is it not so V 

" It is," replied Agnes, holding down her 
head, and blushing; "it seems you know my 

secrets." 

" And well I may. Landes is my best and 
dearest friend — he saved my life upon the battle- 
field. It is for kim, and not for myself that I am 
actnig. I-Ic pines for yon incessantly, and as he 
cannot leave his company in order to urge his 
suit, and induce you to wed him at once, and 
follow him upon his dangerous path, he has be- 
sought me to return here and endeavor to per- 
suade you to accompany me back to the camp. 
/ seek you ? Indeed it never once entered my 
head ; for much as I admire your matchless 
bcautv, and honor the choice of my humble and 
devoted friend, I have already a wife of my own 
— a fair one, too — and one wife, you know, Ag- 
nes, is enough for any man." 

There is a spark of latent vanity in the breast 
of every woman, no matter how good, how pure, 
and how virtuous she may be. She does not 
like to think that she has calculated too much 
upon tlie power of her o^sti attractions ; so Agnes 
La Grange, though she was pleased to find that 
Mottier was not inclined to persecute her with 
his attentions, and that he only acted for one 
whom she had loved almost from her cradle, 
slightly pouted a Hp so ripe, so red and tempt- 
ing, that it might well have tempted an eremite 
to forget his vows, and said : 

" I shall not retuni with you to the camp, sir. 
If Pierre wishes for my society, lie knows where 
I am to be found !" 

" Well, well, I'll bear your message to my 
young friend upon the morrow, and perluips it is 
better that you should not accompany me upon 
this occasion. The alliance I liave formed with 
this prudent and cautious Englishman, would 
make your presence with us somewhat awkward. 
I shall, the day after to-morrow, permit Landes 
to come back here with an escort of lancers, and 
no doubt he will be able to induce you to join 
the eagles of tlie republic. If not, he can cany 
you off by force of arms." 

Saying this, Mottier I'osc, and taking a light- 
ed taper from a shelf, retired to a small room 
pointed out by Agnes, and throwing liimself 
ready dressed upon tlic bed, bright and glowing 
dreams came hovering round his pillow, and in- 
vesting his sleep with forms of radiant beauty-. 
And amid those fonns, did that of the fair wood- 
land flower find a place ? Perhaps so. 

Early the next morning tlie t\vo ti'avellers 
were roused from their slumbers to partake of 
breakfast. Mottier came out and took his seat 
at the table, but his form was still closely envel- 
oped in the heavy gray great coat he iiad worn 
the night before. Alwin soon joined him, and 
after hastily partaking of the meal set before 
them, they both rose, and paying the bill of 
Monsieur La Grange, they mounted their steeds 
and took their way along the narrow and wind- 
ing ravine, where overhanging rocks and giant 
crags frowned down upon the passers-bv. 

Alwin was somewhat moody and reserved. 
Gone was the vivacity with which he had be- 
fi-ayed hi.5 plans to an almost perfect stranger on 
the afternoon before, and in its place was silence 
accompanied by regret that he had been so rash. 
But he had evidently some deep scheme revolv- 
ing in his mind, for he was constantly in a study, 
and paid but little attention to the remarks of 
Mottier, save to answer his questions Iiy a shnig 
of the shoulder, or by a gx'unt of petulance and 
ill nature. The " ally," however, paid but little 
attention to his moroseness, but talked and talk- 
ed, as if he loved the sound of liis own voice, 
and endeavored to " draw out " liis companion 
by every means in liis power. In particular, did 
he strive to ascertain the vavte of the partizan in 
Paris who had dispatched him upon this mission. 
But this was all in vain. Alwin was as close as 
a sealed book, and repelled every effort on the 
part of Mottier to win his confidence. The 
truth is, he liad been making ratlier too free 



with a small flask of brandy which he carried in 
his coat pocket, just before he met with his pi'cs- 
ent ''ally." and under such circumstances was 
imprudent to a degree whicli afterwards astonish- 
ed him. But as the fumes of the liquor began to 
subside he saw Iiis error, and the slight glimpse 
of the epaulette whicli lie caught beneath the 
heavv grav overcoat of his companion, showed 
him the folly of which he had been guilty. But 
it was no easy matter to escape at once from the 
" entangling alliance " into which he had 
plunged, so he resolved to accompany Mottier. 
His plans, in fact, had been all matured beneath 
the roof of the inn, and he only waited for a 
suitable season to put them into execution. But 
he was not to be caught off his guard again. 
He spurred his steed onward over tlie rugged 
road ; but sullen and silent, he repelled every 
advance on the part of his neiglibor. 

In this way the two horsemen slowly wound 
up the steep sides of the Alps, and by noon had 
arrived at a point from wliieh they could descend 
to the vast plains that spread below. There, 
afar in the blue distance, gleamed the sunny 
clime of Italy, where deeds of valor were so.on to 
be performed, and where the azure skies were 
doomed to be hidden by the smoke of iho teiTihlc 
cannon whose thunders sti'ow the gory field with 
slain. 

The travellers had reached a sort of plain in 
tlie sliape of a little table-land making in from 
the steep heights of St. Bernard, and were now 
witliin four miles of the camp of the grand army, 
the location of which was discovered by a column 
of smoke that arose lazily and curlingly from 
the smouldering watch-fires through the leafy 
wilderness that shadowed that immense host, 
and every now and then a subdued murmur rose 
to the ear like the lo\y wail of some distant 
ocean, as its surges trample down the sands that 
pave its shores. Mottier knew that sound to be 
the voice of that tremendous army which was 
soon to spread like some teirible hurricane over 
tlie plains of Italy, and his eye brightened, and 
his breath came thick and gaspingly, as he gath- 
ered up his reins more firmly in his grasp, and 
straightened himself as erect and pi-oudly as an 
iron statue in his saddle. 

*' Do you hear tliat low murmur, do you see 
that smoke curling upward above the leafy ti'cc- 
tops ]" inquired he of Alwin, while his quick 
stern e3'e was bent upon him, with a glance that 
made him quail in sjiite of nimself, "Do you 
know now where we are V 

"Yes," answered Alwin, sullenly, " I know 
well enough where we are. We are on the east- 
ern slope of the Sau Bernard, and yonder 
smoke and yonder sounds proceed from the liid- 
den camp of Napoleon." 

" You arc right, monsieur ; and now let us 
onward and prosecute the task we have under- 
taken." 

" One moment," said the Englishman, paus- 
ing, while a troubled expression stole over his 
features ; " I will just step off into the woods 
here, by the wayside, and cut me a whip to goad 
my horse onward, and tlien we will proceed as 
fast as you like. Just hold the bridle, if you 
please, until I return." 

And suiting the action to the word, Alwin 
dismounted, and handing his bridle rein to Mot- 
tier, he walked off' deliberately into the woods 
until he was out of sight of his companion. And 
did he return again ? Not he. No sooner had 
he reached a distance of some hundred yards 
from the spot where he had left his steed, tlian 
he burst into a headlong run through the thick 
and sombre forest, shouting, as he darted for- 
ward over rocks and mouldering trees, up hills 
and do^\'n dales, " 'twas well done, hy Jupiter ! 
I was near getting into the net. My plot has 
failed through my own folh'- and imprudence. 
As Old Will Shakspcare, the sheep-stealer, once 
said : ' 0, that men should put an enemy into 
tlieir mouths to steal away tlicir brains !' And 
I echo the sentiment. However, what's done 
can't be helped ; so here's onward. I have lost 
the fifty thousand francs reward — but wh6 cares ? 
And now for the lovely Agnes La Grange ! I'll 
collect one flower among these mountain wilds, 
at any rate, and that will in some measure com- 
pensate me for the loss of the francs. Courage ! 
Monsieur Alwin !" 

Mottier, left alone in charge of the two horses, 
sat quietly awaiting the retu -n of Alwin for 
some time, for he did not suspect that his "ally" 
Iiad decided to leave him so unceremoniously. 
At length, however, a light suddenly broke in 
upon him, and he burst into a hearty laugh. 

" Well, well, Mr. Bull is gone, it seems! I 
wonder if lie suspected anything? Hum! per- 



haps so. At any rate, he's off — that's certain ; 
so I may as well pursue my way back to the 
camp. I have received one lesson, at any rate 
— a lesson that will be of some service to me in 
future. Sacrc ! — assassins ! — who would have 
thought if? Well, let 'em work! I'll teach 
them a tale yet, that they will not forget ! As- 
sassins ! Mon Dieu !" 

And tm'ning the horse of Alwin adrift, as if 
he had no further use for him, he spunked his 
own steed as rapidly down the rugged sides of 
the mountain as his safety would permit, and 
was soon lost to view amid the thick woods 
Aviiich spread their solemn shade in silence and 
in solitude from the base to the very summit of 
those snow-crowned and eternal Alpo. 

It was about a week after these events, and a 
wild storm was sweeping in terrible fury over 
the ragged cliffs and down the dark ravines and 
sunless glens of the San Bernard. The winds 
liowled and shrieked, as they rent the limbs from 
the groaning forest trees, or uprooting them, 
hurled them headlong with a fearful crash down 
the steep sides of the yawning precipices, and 
the big rain drops came dancing upon the earth, 
as if they were living and created things, and 
could rejoice in the wild uproar of the elements. 
It was near midnight, and the family of Mon- 
sieur La Grange, tlie innkeeper, were seated 
around the blaze of a cheerful fire that glowed 
and crackled upon the hearth, when a knocking 
was suddenly heard at the only door, as of some 
one seeking admittance. The old Savoyard, 
ever alive to the calls of humanity, arose and 
opened the door, when who should make Ids ap- 
pearance but Matthew Alwin, an old acquaint- 
ance of the reader. He was drenched to the 
skin by the heavy rain to which he had been ex- 
posed, and ^looked so forlorn and pitifiil, that 
neither the old inn-keeper nor his wife recognized 
him as the traveller who, a few nights before, 
had lodged at their house. Not so, however, 
with Agnes. Slie bent her keen, briglit eye 
upon him, and knew him at once ; and though 
woudcrhig what should have brought him back 
again so soon, and secretly annoyed at tlie cir- 
cumstance, siic treated him with every civility, 
furnishing him with dry clothing, and doing eve- 
rything in her power to render him comfortable. 
True, she sometimes shrunk from the sensual 
glance whicli she detected him bending upon 
her, but she was a brave girl, and subdued any 
emotion which arose in her bosom almost in the 
moment of its birth. After drying his clothes, 
and partaking of some refresh mejits, wliich he dc- 
vom"ed with much eagerness — for he had lost his 
way and had been roaming about the mountain 
forests for seven days, with nothing to cat except 
some hard biscuit which he chanced to have in 
his pocket — he was shown by Agnes to the same 
room which he had occuiiied before, where he 
threw himself all dressed upon the bed, while the 
landlord and his wife and their lovely daughter 
quickly sought repose in the arms of sleep. 

The little room occupied by Agnes opened 
u]]0u a sort of rude verandah or piazza, which 
Monsieur La Grange intended sliould be covered 
with vines on the arrival of another smnmcr. 
Here the young maiden lay for some time listen- 
ing to the wicrd raging of the tempest without, 
whicli rattled her window in its frame, and howl- 
ed through the suiTonnding forests like the voice 
of some terrible fiend. Lulled at length by these 
discordant voices she fell into a broken slumber, 
and dreamed that she was in the grasp of a huge 
giant with hideous features, who was holding 
her over a frightful prccii>ice, and threatening 
to drop her down headlong, unless she consented 
to become hit; wife. The friglitful dream aroused 
her. With a slight shriek she awoke, and after 
rubbing her eyes for a moment, was struck 
dumb with terror on beholding in her apartment, 
and standing near the liead of the bed, the figure 
of Matthew Alwin. He was dressed from top 
to toe, and in his right hand lie bore a cocked 
pistol, wdiilc his left hand held a lighted taper. 

" Get up," said lie, in a low, stern tone; "put 
on your clothes, and prepare to follow me out of 
that window by which I have entered, without a 
moment's delay! But, remember, the first word 
} ou speak, though it be but in a whisper, or tlie 
fir?t soimd you make, I'll send a bullet from 
this loaded pistol through your brain ! Get up, 
I say I" 

Wliat could she do ? Tcn-ificd by his threats, 
ns well as by the manner in wliich he uttered 
them, tlic poor girl arose, ti-emblingly donned 
her apparel, and followed the monster in human 
shajie from lu'r fatlicr's dwelling. 

The rain had ceased its peltings, but the wind 
bowled through the groaning forests, which 



tossed their arms wildly to and fro, as if in sup- 
plication. Beneath the gray breaking of the 
early dawn Alwin hurried on, leading his sor- 
rowful victim along the craggy ravines, and 
vainly endeavoring to accelerate her speed — for 
she was so worn with fatigue and terror, that it 
was with the utmost difficulty that she could ac- 
commodate her pace to that of her relentless 
captor. At length, just after sunrise, and when 
some five or six miles from her home, she sud- 
denly resolved to go no further, but to die where 
she was, and indicated her detennination to 
Alwin. 

" Very well, miss, wc shall see," returned he, 
rudely ; " I'll give you an hour to rest yourself, 
and then, if you refuse to accompany me, ^ourfiR.'" 
Tlie hour at length expired. The storm had 
sunk to rest, and the red sun came wheeling like 
a ball of fire over the crown of the mountain. 
Alwin rose to his feet, and sternly regarded 
Agnes who, still seated, gave no indications of 
alarm. 

" Are you going to get up and proceed with 
me V he inquired, in a rough voice. 
" Eor what purpose ?" 

" To become my wife when wc reach Paris, 
or perish by my hand !" 

" Never !" said the young girl, firaily. " I will 
be forced to accompany you no longer !" 

" Take thaf, then, you young hussy !" roared 
Alwin, in a frenzy of rage, as he deliberately 
aimed his pistol at her, and cocked it with a 
sharp click. 

But he did not fire. Just as he was in the act 
of pulling tlie trigger, a loud shout arrested his 
attention, and the next instant ten cavalry troops, 
headed by a fine-looking young officer, galloped 
up, and suiTounding both Alwin and Agnes, cut 
off every avenue of escape. The next instant 
several of the troopers had dismounted and were 
securely binding the Englishman with strong 
cords, while their commander, having rushed to 
the maiden, was locked in her embrace. "Ag- 
nes!" — Picn-e !" were all the words that they 
could utter. He had come just in season ; the 
young dove had found its mate. 

Alwin was tied and placed on one of the 
horses behind a trooper, while Agnes took a scat 
in the rear of her lover on his high-spirited 
charger, and reining into the mountain road, off 
dashed the whole party for the camp of Napo- 
leon. Landes had arrived at the inn of Monsieur 
La Grange about sunrise, having spent the night 
in a sort of cave he had discovered on the pas- 
sage of the army over the mountain ; but what 
was his horror on learning that his betrothed 
had been stolen from her home by the traveller, 
wlio had thus repaid them for their kindness and 
their hospitality ! Calling his men to their sad- 
dles, he mounted his own steed, and started off 
in pursuit of the wretch who had robbed him of 
all he held dear. A just Providence smiled upon 
liis designs, and he succeeded in rescuing her 
from the grasp of death, just at the instant when 
he had reached fortli to claim her as his own. 
***** 
Napoleon, grave and thoughtful, was seated in 
his marquee, as if waiting the approach of some 
one, and his keen eye slionc like a star in a cold, 
clear, wintiw night. Presently an aid advanced 
and reported that "the party had arrived." 

" Show them in," said Napoleon, in his quick, 
stern voice. 

The next instant Pierre Landes and tlie fair 
Agnes entered tlie tent accompanied by Alwin, 
who, securely bound, no sooner caught a glimpse 
of Napoleon, than he started back with dismay. 
He recognized Mottier, liis comrade of the inn, 
to whom he had unwittingly betrayed his 
secrets. 

"Tell me," said Napoleon, "who emploj'cd 
you to assassinate me, and I will spare your life." 
" Monsieur Sardine — member of the council," 
tremblingly answered the coward. 

" 'Tis well — I war not with such as i/ou. Al- 
roy," beckoning to an aid-de-camp, " take this 
Englit^h wretch and give him in cliaige of Ser- 
geant Junot of tlie guai'ds, with orders to kick 
him out of the camp, but not to kill him. I have 
pledged my word to spare liis life." 

" Your excellency's orders shall be promptly 
attended to," replied the aid. 

The next day PieiTC Landes was wed to the 
fair Agnes La Grange, and Napoleon honored 
the occasion with his presence. The young lieu- 
tenant rapidly arose in his profession until he 
reached the rank of general, wlicn at the close of 
the war on the plains of Waterloo, he retired to 
his estate in Nonuiindie, and passed the remain- 
der of his days with his yet lovely wife ami 
handsome cliildrcn. 



12 



GLEASON'S PICTORLVL DEAWING KOOM COMPANION. 



REBECCA AT TIIE ^VELL. 

Our tirtist has furnished us with a very bcimti- 
ful scene herewith, taken from the famous paint- 
ing of " Kehecea at the Well," painterl hy Hor- 
ace Vcrnet. Tliis beautiful picture of Rebceca 
at the well is one of those which may be viewed 
witli unmitigated pleasure. A simple and natu- 
ral incident is represented with equal delicacjy 
and vigor, Landscape, costume, and the vari- 
ous objects that lill up tlio same, arc all in ac- 
cordance with wliat we know of the history of 
the time and the ])lace identified with the story. 
A graceful simplicity pervades the whole. Ahra- 
liam had become old, liis beloved partner, Sarah, 
had been taken fiom him by death, and lie desired 
to see his race perpetuated, in accordance with the 
announcement which 
had been mivilc to him 
by the God ho wor- 
shipped. A stranger 
in a foreign land, the 
daughters of Canaan, 
from their levity or 
want of piety, were 
not sucli as to make 
him content that Isaac 
should choose a wife 
from among them. 
He desired that his 
son might obtain a 
consort from the land 
of his forefathers. To 
accomplish this ob- 
ject, the anxious pa- 
rent resolved to send 
the oldest servant of 
his house to seek one 
in Mesopotamia. The 
person selected to go 
on this important er- 
rand was not merely 
a trusty domestic ; he 
held an important 
post, and, high in the 
patriarch's confidence, 
we read that "he 
ruled over all that 
Abraliam had." He 
was therefore a man 
of station, as the jjos- 
sessions of Abraliam 
were great, and his 
flocks and herds nu- 
merous. Before the 
servant set out upon 
his jouraey, the mas- 
ter took the precau- 
tion of swearing him, 
according to the forms 
then in use among the 
Jews, that he would 
not choose a wife for 
his son from the 
daughters of Canaan. 
A natural fear came 
over the man, that it 
would not be in his 
power to fulfil the wisli 
of his master. Even 
in the event of his 
finding a woman not 
a Canaanite fit to be- 
come the wife of Isaac, 
he doubted if she 
would be willing to 
leave her country ; but 
Abraham, from a re- 
velation which had 
been made, re-assured 
him, by telling him 
that " the Lord God 
of heaven would send 
his angel before," and 
secure a prosperous 
issue to his undertak- 
ing. The same faith 
which sustained him 
when tlic sacrifice of 
his offspring had been 
culled for, satisfied 
him that, in this case 
likewise, all would be 
well, and that the 
Most High could not 
deceive, and would 
not leave his work in- 
complete. We are 
then told that the ser- 
vant took his depar- 
ture, and journeyed to 
the city of Nahor. On 
his way he displayed 
great pomp. He took 
ten camels with him, 
" for all the goods of 
his master were in his 

hand ;" and having reached Mesopotamia, he 
made the camels kneel without the city which he 
was about to enter. It was evening, and the 
time when the females were accustomed to go 
forth to draw water, and he then prayed the Lord 
God of his master to show kindness to that mas- 
ter, and to order it so, that when he should ask 
a damsel to let him drink from her pitcher, that 
she should offer to give his camels water, and 
that he miglit know by this his suit was granted. 
The narrative, as given in Genesis, chapter 24, 
proceeds : — " And it came to pass before he had 
done speaking, that, behold, Rebecca came out, 
who wiLS born to Bethuel, son of Milcah, the 
wife of Nahor, Abraham's brotlier, with her 
pitcher upon her shoulder; and the damsel was 
very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had any 
man known her: and she went down to the well, 
and filled her pitcher, and came up. And the 
servant ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray 



thee, drink a little water of thy pitcher. And 
she said, Driiik, my lord : and she luisted, and 
let down licr pitcher upon her hand, and gave 
him di'ink. And when she had done giving him 
drink, she said, 1 will draw water i'^r thy camels 
also, until they luive done drinking. And she 
hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trougli, 
and ran again unto tlie well to draw water, and 
drew for all his camels. And the man, wonder- 
ing at her, held his ])cace, to wit whether the 
Lord had made his journey prosperous or not. 
And it came to pass, as the camels had done 
drinking, that the man took a golden earring of 
half a shekel weight, and two bracelets for her 
hands of ten shekels weight of gold, and said, 
Whose daughter art thou i tell mc, I pray thee : 



AlilSONI. 

Marietta Alljoni was born at Cesena, in 1820, 
of honorable parents, and received an excellent 
education. At the age of eleven, slic took los- 
soiis in music of the celebrated Maestro Bagioli. 
Eight years after she entered the Lyceum of Bo- 
logna, wlien Rossini was its director. Her first 
dfhut was at Milan, in the great tlicafrc of La 
Scala, where she continued to sing durin^i i\inv 
seasons. Slie then sung lliree cnti;i;:i nii-nis nt 
Vienna, and made her mark in Si. I'cti^rslturg. 
She left that city in 1845 for Germany, after 
which time she made no engagements with mii^ 
nugers, but sang, as her mood prompted, in the 
principal cities, sliaring in London the triumphs 
of Grisi, Mario and Tamburini, until slie came 




REBECCA AT THE WELL SCENE FROM BIBLICAL HISTORY. 



is there room in thy father's house for us to lodge 
in "? And she said iinto him, I am the daughter 
of Bethuel the son of Milcah, which she bare 
unto Nahor. She said moreover unto him. We 
have both straw and provender enough, and 
room to lodge in. And the man bowed down 
his head, and worshipped the Lord." The ar- 
tist, following scripture, has made the damsel 
Rebecca " very fair to look upon." In her per- 
son we mark the glow of health and the fresh- 
ness of youth. With no sinister expression in 
his countenance, it is obvious, while he drinks 
from her pitcher, that the faithful servant of 
Abraham is thinking of something more than 
quenching his thirst. He gazes on the young 
aiitl biautiful .Tewess with earnest curiosity and 
inlciisi^ inti rest, regarding her as the future wife 
of Isaac; and evidently exults that he has not 
prayed to the God of Abraham in vain, satisfied 
that his success is no longer doubtful. 



to Paris, where the rapture of her admirers had 
no precedent, both at the Italian and Grand Ope- 
I'a houses. Recently she has been exciting great 
enthusiasm in Belgium. And her last public ap- 
pearance was in Paris, on the 13th of May, at a 
grand solemnity in the theatre of the Palace of 
Versailles, at "which Louis Napoleon assisted. 
She was the great star of the occasion, and aston- 
ished and delighted everybody by her singing. 
The theatre was illuminated, and all tlic musical 
authorities of Paris were present. Rachel, the 
great tragedian, however, had too much patri- 
otic pride, which could not influence Alboni, being 
a foreigner. The director of the Grand Opera 
made ju'opositinns to her to sing in Halevy's new 
opera Lr ,/ii//'J'Jir(nit, and otfcrcd to produce ex- 
pres.sly for lior a jjict'C of lialfc's : Mamion I'Es- 
caat, the " chevul de Iictaille," of Malibran. But 
she had concluded all the arrangements for a trip 
to America. — Dwight's JourtiaJ. of Music. 



MEMNON. 

Returning to the Temple of Koosneh, we took 
a ])ath over the plain, through fields of wheat, 
lupins and Icntiles, to the two colossi, wliich we 
had already seen from a distance. These im- 
mense sitting figures, fifty-three feet above the 
plain, wiiich has buried their pedestals, look over 
the side of vanquished Thebes, and assert the 
gnindcnr of which they and Kai*nak are the most 
f^lrikin;; remains. They were erected by Amu- 
ncph III, and though the faces are totally disfig- 
ured, the full, round, beautiful proportions of the 
colossal arms, shoulders and tliiglis do not beUc 
the marvellous sweetness of the features which 
we still see in his tomb. Except tlie head of 
Antonius, I know of no ancient portrait so beau- 
tiful as Amunoph. 
The long and luxuri- 
ant liair, flowing in a 
hundred ringlets, the 
soft gi'ace of the fore- 
head, the mild sereni- 
ty of the eye, the fine 
thin lines of the nos- 
trils, and the feminine 
tcndemess of the full 
lips, triumph over the 
ci'umpcd rigidity of 
Egy))tian sculpture, 
and charm you with 
the lightness and har- 
mony of Greek art. 
In looking on that 
head, I cannot help 
thinking that the sul> 
ject overpowered the 
artist, and led him to 
the threshold of a tim- 
er art. Amunoph, or 
Memnon, was a poet 
in soul, and it was 
meet that his statue 
should salute the ris- 
ing sun with a sound 
like that of a harp- 
string. Modem re- 
search has wholly an- 
nihilated this beautiful 
fable. Memnon now 
sounds at all hours of 
the day, and at the 
command of all tra- 
vellers who pay an 
Arab five piastres to 
climb into his lap. 
We engaged a vender 
of modern scarabei, 
who threw off' his gar- 
ments, hooked his 
fingers and toes into 
the cracks of the pol- 
ished granite, and 
soon hailed us with 
" Salamat!" from the 
knee of the statue. 
There is a certain 
stone on Memnon's 
lap, which gives out 
a fine metallic ring 
when sharply struck. 
Behind it is a small 
square aperture, invi- 
sible from below, 
where one of the 
priests no donln sta^ 
tioned himself to per- 
form the daily mira- 
cle. One Arab rap- 
ped on the anns and 
body of the statue, 
which had the usual 
dead sound of stone, 
and rendered tlie mu- 
sical ring of the sun- 
smitten block more 
striking. Ancient his- 
tory indeed explicitly 
affirms that the statue 
of Memnon uttered 
sounds when the sun 
shone upon it, and 
says, there can be no 
doubt of this fact : as 
to the mode, however, 
in which this was ef- 
fected, great diversity 
of opinion exists. It 
has been thought hy 
some that the priests 
of Thebes might have 
fabricated, by me- 
chanical art, a kind of 
speaking head, the 
springs of which were 
so arranged that it 
sent forth sounds at 
the rising of the sun. Such an explanation, 
however, is altogether unsatisfactory ; the cir- 
cumstances of the case are directly against it. 
The more generally received opinion ascribes 
the sound to some peculiar property in the stone 
itself, of which the Egyptian priests artfully took 
advantage, though in what way is quite uncertain. 
An avenue of sphinxes once led from the co- 
lossi to a grand temple, the foundations of which 
we found about a quarter of a mile distant. On 
the way are the fragments of two other colossi, 
one of black granite. The enormous substruc- 
tions of the temple and the pedestals of its col- 
umns have been sufficiently excavated to show 
what a superb edifice has been lost to the world. 
A crowd of Arabs, thrusting upon our attention 
newly baked cinerary urns, newly roasted antique 
wheat, and images of all kinds, disturbed our 
examination of the ruins, and to csca_pe them 
we rode to the Memnonimu. — Eastern Travels. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



13 




FREDERICK GLEASON, Profeietor. 

MATUKIN M. BALLOU, Editor. 

CONTENTS OF OUR NEXT NUMBER. 

" The Tisit, or the Ill-Regulated Family," a story, by 
Mrs. M. E. iloEiNSOX. 

" The Royal favorite," a tale of the early history of 
Spain, by Miss Sarah M. Howe. 

"The Two Carpenters, or Pastime Heal and Unreal,'' a 
eketch for mechanics, by Sti-vasds Cobb, Jr. 

" The Four Acre Lot," a fine prose sketch, by Mrs. E. 
Wellmont. 

"Lines to Anna,-' by Ellen L. Chandler. 

" Look on the sunny side," by Mrs. M. \V. CUETIS. 

" Evening," Unes, by Joes F. Jefferson. 

" Sonnet," by Kenneth Sinclair. 

" Unrequited Love," verses, by J. Alford. 

" breathe one "Wish for me," by iNrrs. R. T. Eldredge. 

" Reformation," a poem, by J. Y. I^'eisrampel. 

"■Stanzas," by M.M. Parker. 

" Carrie Lecj'' verses, by S. E. CauRcn. 

" Lines to a Friend," by Caroline A. IIatden. 

" Friendship," by Mart N. Dearborn. 

" Yield not to Sadness," verges, by W. T. HaSEE. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"We shall give a fine picture representing the Columbian 
Artillery as they appeared, a few daya since, drawn up in 
line before their armory, in Cooper street, on the occasion 
of their anniversary. Drawn for us by Mr. Manning. 

A fine, large picture, representing the Count de Paris 
and the Duke de Chartrcs. An equestrian picture of 
beautiful execution. 

Also a mate for the above, in a large and exceedingly 
fine engraving of the Duke de Brabant and the Count de 
Flanders. 

A fine and interesting picture of the American House, 
Boston. One of the largest and best found hotels in the 
United States. 

A very excellent and truthful representation of the late 
Centennial Celebration, at Danvers, Mass., represented by 
our artist, Mr. Manning, in three large engravings, faith- 
fully depicting the unique and most curious Procession, 
the Tent Scene, and other interesting events of the day. 

An admirable and very interesting scriptural picture, 
from a celebrated painting called " The Finding of Moses." 
An engraving that will greatly please our readera. 

An excellent and perfect view, by our artist, Mr. Wade, 
of Fort Hamilton, in New York harbor. 

We shall present a fine original likeness of Gen. Scott, 
the whig candidate for the presidency. It will be a timely 
and acceptable picture to hia friends. 



THE RUINED ABBEY: 

— OR — 

THE GIPSIES OF FOREST HILL. 

A ROIiAXCE OF OLD ENGLAND. 

BT PR. J. H. ROBINSON. 

This excellent story, just completed in the 
Pictorial, is now published in book form, and is 
for sale at all of the periodical depots. It is one 
of the best we have issued for a long time, and 
is well worth sending to distant friends, or of 
preserving in a convenient form for reference. 
Those fond of good reading, should procure a 
copy for perusal at leisure. 

^ -m*^ » 

SPLINTEES. 

The Eavels have been more than suc- 
cessful at the Howard Athenaeum. 

The priests of Ireland are preaching 

to the people against emigrating to Americu. 

A State Reform School for girls is 

talked of for Massachusetts. A good object. 

Michael Conley was killed on the 

Western Eailroad track, a few days since. 

...... Madame Celeste has taken her fare- 
well of the American stage, in New York city. 

Moritz Wagner, the renowned German 

traveller, is coming to America. 

Miss Kimberly has been giving Shak- 

spearian readings in the AYest. 

An engine exploded lately in the 

Wamsulta Mills, New Bedford ; damage S3000. 

The New Hampshire Legislature were 

not prepared to pass the Maine Liquor Law. 

It is very evident thai we shall soon 

have a penny rate of postage for the Atlantic. 

Wm. Osgood went into a N. York gam- 
ing house, lost his money — and drow^ned himself. 

We see by the papers that tlie streets of 

Gardiner, Me., are to be sprinkled — when it rains. 

It is said that Mr. Webster will soon 

leave the cabinet, and return to Marshfield. 

Some papers are talking about a " has- 
ty plate of soup." Wonder what they mean ? 

A son of Elias Gales was drowned at 

Newton Lower Falls, on Sunday. 

The little Infant Drummer will again 

perform before the Bostonians. 

Catherine Hayes is still concerting at 

the north-west. Very popular. 



MODERN ARCHITECTURE. 

With the other fine arts, architecture, brought 
to a higli degree of perfection by the Greeks and 
Romans, sank into decay with the fall of tlieir 
imperial power. When tlie sent of empire was 
removed from Rome to Byzantium, the efforts 
of Constantine to make his favorite city rival in 
architectural glory the splendor of old Rome 
failed completely. A dark period occurred. 

The chiircli of St. Mark, at Venice, a creation 
of modern art, in the beauty of its proportions 
and richness of its style, seems to stamp the tenth 
century — the period of its erection — as the era 
of renewing taste in architecture. All at once 
the Italians suddenly developed their latent 
genius ; and ambitious edifices began once more 
to adorn their cities and plains. In 1016, a 
splendid cathedral was erected at Pisa, by Bus- 
chetto da Dulichio, a Greek architect. This 
building is encrusted with marble, internally and 
externally, and four marble columns support the 
elegant roof. The architect did not live long 
enough, however, to found a school, and his fine 
cliurch remained a long while without a rival. 

In the thu-teenth centniy, Nichola da Pisa 
erected the church of St. Anthony, at Padua, of 
which it is enough to say, that it excited the ad- 
miration of Michael Angelo. In this and the 
following century, the great cathedral of Stras- 
bm-g was erected. Prom this time, modem 
architecture made rapid advances. 

In England, Trigo Jones, about the time of 
Charles II, introduced a pure style of art. The 
modern French school has also many fine speci- 
mens of art. 

If modern architectm*e do not possess the ele- 
gant simplicity, the dignified richness of that of 
the ancient, still it is distinguished by variety, by 
elegance, by daring originality, and by pictur- 
esqueness. One soon wearies of the monotony 
of streets, presenting regular colonnades, uniform 
parallelograms and arches ; but the mind expe- 
riences a constant succession of agreeable sur- 
prises in the very angularities and eccentricities 
of a modern city. 

Of all the edifices which modern art has erect- 
ed, none is more striking or sublime than the 
famous church of St. Peter, at Rome, which 
covers an area of 227,069 feet. Men walking on 
its rich Mosaic pavement, seem dwarfed to in- 
sects in comparison with the vastness of the space 
by which they are surrounded, and one can hard- 
ly realize, in the midst of this architectural mag- 
nificence, that it is the work of human hands. 

Our own country is too young, perhaps, to 
look for architectural excellence. Comfortable 
and commodious dwellings, we have, and spa- 
cious buildings, but we have not reached that 
point of our history when taste will demand a 
splendid and original school of architecture. 
The time will, however, come when we shall no 
longer borrow our models from the old world ; 
when we can budd a chui'ch without depending on 
some Gothic model, or a bank w'ithout infring- 
ing on the Parthenon at Athens. We have seen 
the model of that Parthenon so many times that 
we are really sick of it. It has obtruded itself 
on our observation under a thousand false pre- 
tences ; sometimes as a dwelling-house, with 
green blinds, a mahogany street-door, and a cu- 
pola; sometimes as a shoe store — the pillars 
festooned with brogans, and anon as a billiard 
room and oj'ster saloon. The Gothic, too, has 
been -wi-etchedly hackneyed and caricatured, until 
the eye is weary of sharp pinnacles, and wooden 
icicles, and steep roofs. We hope the time will 
come when an American citizen will be obliged 
to sleep in a Gothic bedroom, dine in a Chinese 
pagoda, get his money in a Grecian temple, and 
be bmied in an Egyptian tomb. Architecture is 
surely a noble art, and the universality of its 
uses should encourage true genius to make it a 
study and a field for the development of the in- 
tellectual and imaginative faculties. By all 
means let us have an American school of archi- 
tectm-e. 



THE NOIUKEES. 

Well, we have the candidates now fairly before 
us — Scott and Pierce — Pierce and Scott, — and 
the battle must now commence in earnest. No 
doubt there is much disappointment on both 
sides at this moment; indeed we know there is ; 
but then what matters if? "Principles, not 
men," should be the motto of every party. It 
will be observed that we this week give a very 
perfect likeness of General Frank Pierce, and 
next week we shall give as good a one of General 
Winfield Scott. 



Query. — What do you think, gentle reader, of 
our first number of the new volume ? 



OURSELVES. 

We need hardly go on to praise the appear- 
ance of our Pictorial in the new dress, new type, 
new heading, etc., in which we come before the 
public in the present number. It will speak for 
itself, and yet w6 would call attention to the ex- 
quisite fineness and beauty of the heading, and 
also to the great purity of style and clearness of 
effect produced by the new t}'pe. It is from the 
establishment of Messrs. Phelps & Dalton, of 
this city, and as a specimen of work, is highly 
creditable to that house. 

It will also be observed that we have endeavor- 
ed to improve in the character of our engrav- 
ings, and, indeed, this we have done every week 
since the paper commenced, and shall continue 
to do. The pictorial department of the number 
now before om: readers is of a very excellent and 
perfect character, probably surpassing anything 
in the style of wood engraving ever attempted in 
this country. We have now a most extensive 
and experienced corps of artists, and still better 
work than heretofore may be anticipated in the 
pictorial department. 

That the value of the Pictorial is increasing 
■with every number, the humblest capacity will 
perceive, and therefore it becomes of great im- 
portance to those who would presen'C so elegant 
an illumined work of the times for binding, that 
they subscribe early to secure the numbers com- 
plete from the first of the volume ; and therefore 
the present moment is the very best time for sub- 
scribers to send in their names and money to our 
office of publication. 

We have some rare and beautiful subjects now 
in hand for illustration, whicli will be brought 
out promptly from week to week, and which will 
delight our readers by their tnithfulness and ar- 
tistic excellence. 




THE PICTORL\L— VOLOIE H. 

We have now ready for delivery, Volume 11 
of the Pictorial, elegantly bound in cloth, with 
gilt back and edges, and illumined sides. To 
this we have added a new and splendid frontis- 
piece — one of the most beautiful engi-a\'ings we 
have ever issued from this establishment. This 
title-page represents, above, the four quai'ters of 
the earth — Europe, Asia, Africa, and America — 
the resources from which are drawn the matter 
and illustrations of the paper. Below, in the 
centre of the scene, is a drawing-room, with ladies 
and gentlemen engaged in looking over the paper 
and conversation ; on one side, at the base, is a 
rural retreat, on the other a seashore view, the 
whole enclosed in a border of scroll work enliv- 
ened with cupids sporting and holding festoons 
of flowers. To those who have volume 1st bound, 
we need only say that this second volume is far 
superior to it in every respect ; but to those who 
have never seen the Pictorial bound, we can only 
say, come and look for yourselves. We are also 
binding up the volume as fast as handed in by 
om" subscribers, at the imprecedented low price 
of one dollar, as described above. Any of the 
back numbers that may have been injured or lost 
can be supplied at our office by early application. 



THE SEA-SERPENT. 

Would you believe that the famous sea-ser- 
pent has actually made his appearance off tlie 
rock-bound shores of Nahant ? So it is. In an- 
other place you wdl find a likeness of his snake- 
ship. By the by, there are some delightful at- 
tractions at this peninsula, at all times ; to say 
nothing of the cool, bracing atmosphere, as con- 
trasted with the wilting heat of the town. There 
is the Swallows' Cave, Pulpit Rock, the Spout- 
ing Horn, and other curiosities ever attracting 
the visitor ; and when by examining these he has 
created a good appetite. Col. Drew, of the famous 
Nahant Hotel, is ready to pi-escribe for tlie inner 
man in a way that he so well understands, and 
which renders one quite at home. Col. Drew's 
beautiful steamer, Josephine Clifton, is now 
running regularly each day between Nahant and 
Boston. 



JrsT so. — The Post says the public houses at 
Newport are being filled fast. Several " leading 
citizens," and some of "the first families," are 
there. Owing to the anti-liquor law of Rhode 
Island, visitors take their medicine with them. 



In this eity, by Rev. Mr. Streetcr, Mr. James F. Crabo 
to Miss Delia T. Pollard. 

By Rev. Mr. Smithett, Mr. Asa Worcester to Miss Ellen 
M. SVickers. 

By Rev. Mr. Porter, Mr. William Kenne to Mies Mary 
Currier. 

By Rev. Mr. Fox, Mr. Richard Halls to Miss Elizabeth 
N. Gate.s. 

By Mr. Davis, Mr. Edward H. Eldridge to Miss Lydia B. 
Richardson, 

At Roxbury, by Rev. 3Ir. Putnam, Mr. A. W. Spencer 
to Miss Josephine Vila. 

At Brookline, by Rev. Mr, Sanger, Mr. S. Merrill, of Na- 
tick, to Miss Rebecca R. Blake. 

At Walpole, by Rev. Mr. 3Icrrick, Mr. John P. Prichard 
to Miss Elizabeth A. Tapley, both of Charlestotra. 

At Eastou, by Rev, Mr. Sheldon, Mr. Joshua D. Howard, 
of South Boston, to Miss Lusanua W, Kimball. 

At Worcester, by Rev. Mr. Colvcr, Mr. Joseph W. Col- 
bum to Miss Charlotte A. Blunt, both of Bostou. 

At Essex, by Rev, Dr. Crowell, Mr. John B. Lane to MisB 
Elizabeth C. Choate. 

At Waterville, Me., Mr. John B. Foster, of Portland, to 
Miss Ann D, Kobinson. 

At Philadelphia, by Rev, Mr. Stevens, Mr. Lemuel Coffin, 
formerly of Newburyport, Ms., t^a Miss Amantine Monges. 

At Hallowell, Me., by Rev. Mr. Albee, Mr. Joseph A. 
Griffin, of Boston, to Miss Marj- Jane Dearborn. 

At Tewksbury, Ijy Rev. Mr. Coggin, Mr. J. N. Goodhue, 
of St. Paul. Minnesota, to Miss Julia A. Kittredge. 



«-<V^#^: 




Explanation. — " Cuffee, is that the second 
bell V " No, massa, dat's de second ringin* ob 
de fuss bell. "We haven't got no second bell in 
dis ere hotel." 



Bright. — The planet Venus is said to be 
more brilliant now than for ten years past. 



In this city, Mrs. Betsey Howe, 50 ; Mr. Nath'l Green- 
ough, 74 ; Mi-a. Matilda Morse, 49 ; Mr, Job Powers ; Mrs. 
Mary Bean, 73: Mr. John Grey, 77 — for the last 30 years 
insane ; Mr. William Hughins, 23 ; Mrs. E, M. T. Jackson, 
82 ; Mr. Terrence Sweeney, 57 ; Mrs. Mary B. Fuller, 48. 

At Roxbury, Mrs. Elizabeth Ford, 72. 

At Charlestown, Mrs, Diana A, Austin, 29, 

At Salem, Mr. Jonas Bettis, 61 ; Miss Louisa Peabody, 
14; Mr. Henry Thompson, 21. 

At Concord, Hon. Phineas How, 55. 

At North Scituate, Mr. Caleb Bailey, 83- 

At Amesbury, Dr. John W. Wadleigh, of Haverhill, 32. 

At Haverhill, Miss Eliza R. Emerson, 27. 

At Newburyport, Mrs, Polly W, DorrUl, 64. 

At Rockport, Mr. Lemuel ElweJl, 22. 

At Nantucket, Mrs. Anna Saudsbury, 63 ; Mrs. Eunice 
Husscv, 87 ; Mrs. Judith Swain, 79. 

At North Hadley, Mrs. Olive Smith, 85. 

At Conway, Dr. George Rogers, 73. 

At Belchertown, Mr. Mark Stacv, 87. 

At Brookfield, Mrs. Mary Smith, 96. 

At Portland, Me., Martha Dellano. 82. 

At Westmoreland, N. H., Mrs. Elizabeth Cook, 85. 

At Providence, B, I., Mrs, Caroline Olney, 55. 

At New York, Mr. Charles J. Hunt, of Boston. 

At Washington, D. C, Mr. E. M. Cunningham, 60. 

At Goshen, Ind., Dr, G. H. Parsons, 52. 

At San Francisco, Mr. Seth G. Cummings, of Maine, 48 ; 
Mr. James French, of New Hampshire, 36 ; Mr. John B. 
Emerson, of Massachusetts, 22. 



— AND — 

LITERACY WEEKLY JOURNAL. 



GLEASON'S PICTOKIAL 

JDrftun«tj^H00tit (SIotn^rtiTtoiT* 

A Record of the heautifu^ and useful in Art. 

The object of this paper is to pre.scnt, in the most elegant 
and available form, a weekly literary melange of notable 
events of tbe day. Its columns are devoted to original 
tales, sketches and poems, by the 

BEST AMERICAN AUTHORS, 

and the cream of the domestic and foreign news ; the whola 
well spiced with wit and humor. Each paper is 

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED 

with numerous accurate engravings, by eminent artists, of 
notable objects, current events in all parts of the world, 
and Oi men and manners, altogether making a. paper en- 
tirely original in it^ design, in this country. Its pages 
contain views of every populous city m the known world, 
of all buildings of note in the eastern or western hemi- 
sphere, of all the principal ships and steamers of the navy 
and merchant ser^e, with line and accurate portraits of 
every noted character in tbc world, both male and female. 
Sketches of beautiful scenery, taken from life, ^vill al.so be 
given, ivith nimierous specimens from the animal king- 
dom, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea. It is 
printed on fine satin-surface p2.per, from a font of new 
and beautiful type, manufactured expressly for it, — pro- 
Benting in its mechanical execution an elegant specimen 
of art. It contains fitleen hundred and sixty-four square 
inches, and sixty-four columns of reading matter and 
illustrations — a mammoth weekly paper of sixteen octavo 
pages. It forms 

The Best Family Paper, 

inasmuch as ita aim is constantly, in connection with tha 
fund of amusement it aQbrds, and the rich array of origi- 
nal miscellany it presents, to inculcate the ptrictest and 
highest toue of morality, and to encourage virtue by hold- 
ing up to view nil that is good and pure, and avoiding all 
th-it is evil in its tendency. In short, the object is to 
make the paper loved, respected, and sought after for its 
combined excellencies. 

TEEMS: $2 00 FEB VOLUME. 

OR, S4 00 PER ANN'UM, 

INVARIAULY IX ADVANCE. 

Each six montUs completes a volume, commencing oa 
the f.Tit of January and July ; thus making two vslumes 
per year, of four hundred and sixteen pages each. 

[C7=" One copy ot tuc Flag of oub Cnios, and one copy 
of the PicTOKiAL Drawing-Hoou CoMi'AXioN, oue year, 
for ©6 UO, 

[Cr" The PicTOKiAL Drawing-Room Companion may be 
obtained at any of the periodical depots throughout the 
country, and of newsmen, at ten cenla per single copy 

Pubhshed every Saturday, by 

F. GLEASON, Bosiox, Mass. 

WHOLESALE AGENTS. 

S. FRENCH, 151 Nassau, cor. Spruce Street, New York. 
A. WINCH, 116 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
BURGESS. TAYLOR & Co., Ill Balthnore St., Baltimore. 
A. C. BAGLEY, 10 West 3d Street, Cmcinnati. 
J. A. ROYS. 43 Woodward Avenue, Detroit. 
E. K. WOODWARD, cor. 4th and Chesnut, St. Louis. 
V^y Subseriplions received at either of the above places 



14 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOIM COMPANION. 



[Written for OIoaflon'H Plctoriftl.] 
ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

HT JOHN RUaSKI,. 

Hail! thou nHspiciouN, glorious morn, 
Which gave the llrltlHh chaps their corn; 
When every patriot hero liaU flworn, 

From that day forth, 
All llritinh tyranny to nconi, 

Id uattt or north. 

Eronta had lang preceded thoflo, 
Destined to Diak a noblo blcozo, 
Ah lang as there arc hills or bcob, 

Or dei'dfl to toll, 
"Where urniios mufltorod thick aa hccs, 

And Britinh fell. 

The tyrants of the noblc'a land. 
Had i-odc John with so high a hand, 
That they dared even to command 

The patriots here ; 
Thin put our nation to a stand, 

But not to fear. 

At Bunker's hill wc gave thorn battle, 
And put to proof our sterling mettle, 
The British fled away like cattle, 

Or stricken deer ; 
M'ha' fell not on the field o' battle. 

Fled fast for fear. 

Wu met the cravens aft agjiin, 

And gave them bucksliot for their pain, 

Till they wore thankful to refrain, 

And did decree, 
(Since they could not keep ua in chain,) 

To set us free. 

And now we hnil the glorious day, 
Which first gave liberty its away, 
■Which shed its first, its rising ray 

On this hlest shore ; 
Here may it take its lasting stay. 

To set no more 1 

[Writt«n for Glcason's Pictorial.] 

THE LITERARY WIFE. 



BY MRS. CAllOHNE OIINB. 

" Well, thank my stars, my wife is not lite- 
rary," said Morris Scdley ; a remark which had 
been elicited hy something whicli his friend, 
Charles Staniford, had been saying. 

"Neither," said Staniford, in reply, "is Wil- 
liam Barclay's wife what would, strictly speak- 
ing, be called literary. She is by no means what 
would be called a blue stocking." 

" I don't know what ouglit to be called a blue 
stocking, then. One thing is certain, she is eter- 
nally scribbling for the magazines and news- 
papers." 

" I should think eternally rather a strong 
word; for my sister, who is on terms of intimacy 
with Mrs. Barclay, says she superintends lier do- 
mestic affairs, and does all the plain sewing for 
Jie family ; while, as you and I both know, there 
is no lady of her station, who dresses with more 
neatness and taste." 

" All this may be ; but depend on it, 'twill be 
only for a short time. The cacoethes sc7-iheiKU 
will grow upon lier, and in the eonrsc of a few 
years slie will degenerate into a downright slat- 
tern, or, what I consider almost the same thing, 
into a 6(15 bleu in its broadest sense." 

"We shall see," said Charles Staniford, as he 
and Sedley parted at the threshold of the well 
filled store belonging to the latter. 

It is well that mortals are not gifted with the 
power of ubiquity. If they were, the mind of 
Morris Sedley might have been seriously dis- 
turbed ; for at ttie very moment he was thanking 
his stars that his wife was not literary, she was 
seated at a table, on whicli she was leaning in a 
thoughtful attitude, with a sheet of paper spread 
before her, and a pen in her hand. 

Ellen Sedley was young, with liandsome fea- 
tures, and a fine, transparent complexion. It 
might, moreover, be said of her, as Lumqua — 
called by Europeans the Sir Tliomas La^vTcnce 
of China — said of an English belle, "lier face 
talks." She had already, ur.der an a.ssumed 
name, contributed several articles to a popular 
periodical, which had been received with great 
favor, and it was predicted that she would take a 
high stand among the most popular and approved 
writers. 

She had not, at fir.st, been impelled to write, 
cither from a desire of gain, or even fame, but 
nimply to give expression to the beautiful 
thoughts which ivoitld well up fiom the depths of 
lier heart, like waters fiom the crystal fountain. 
She did not think them worth publisliing, and 
liad it not been for Eliza Ray, her cousin, whom 
ulic permitted to read Iier effusions, t!icy would, 
in all prol)ability, have been transfciTcd from her 



portfolios to the fire, when that receptacle liud 
become too much crowded. She was not, at 
that time, aware that M(H-ris Sedley entertained 
so strong a prejudice against literary Indies. As 
soon ns she ascertained it, by some casual re- 
mark made by him on the subject soon after 
their marriage, slie sent nothing more for publi- 
cation. She, however, continucil to write for her 
own amusement, iind tliat of her only eoniidant, 
Eliza Hay. Having become intercste<l in the 
characters which she had introduced into a tale, 
already commenced, she had continued it, till it 
had promised to grow into a good sized volume. 
Though she Sent nothing more herself, her 
cousin, without consulting her, forwarded a poem 
whicli Iiad struck her as very beautiful, to the 
publisher of the periodical to which slie had for- 
merly contributed. Ellen Sedley imagined that, 
with the exception of her cousin, there was not 
a person in existence who suspected that a single 
line written by her had ever been printed. In 
this, she was deceived. Her chirograpliy, which 
was elegant, as well as somewhat peculiar, had 
betrayed her to a lady of her acquaintance, who 
had by some chance seen one of her stories in 
manuscript. The lady had subsequently pointed 
her out to her brother, as the writer of a scries 
of tales, which she knew he much admired, 
though she refused to tell him her name. The 
brother, whose name was Stafford, at that time 
had no acquaintance with Mr. Sedley. Not long 
afterward, the two gentlemen, being frequently 
thrown together, became familiarly acquainted. 

The very day the conversation relative to lit- 
erary ladies took place between Mr. Sedley and 
Charles Staniford, Stafibrd called into Mr. Sed- 
ley 's store. As they were chatting together, 
Stafford took up a paper which was lying on the 
counter, and as he ran his eye carelessly over its 
columns, it was suddenly airested by the nom de 
plume which had been adopted b}' Mi-s. Sedley. 

"Ah," said he, "I am glad to see something 
from the pen of my old favorite. Have you read 
iti" he asked, pointing out a piece of poetry to 
Sedley. 

" No ; I should have my hands full, if I under- 
took to read all such trasli." 

" Do not call this trash — it is a perfect gem — 
a diamond of the first water. Listen, while I 
read it, and you will agree with me;" and with- 
out paying any attention to certain deprecatory 
exclamations on the part of Sedley, he read the 
poem. 

Being an excellent reader, he did it full jus- 
tice, and Sedley was constrained to acknowledge 
that it was not so " wishy-washy " as he had 
anticipated. 

" I suppose Barclay's wife wrote it," said he. 
" 0, no," replied Stafford, " Mrs. Barclay, 
though a veiy good writer, is incapable of writ- 
ing anything equal to this. I have seen the lady 
who wrote it ; my sister pointed her out to me 
one day, but no persuasion could induce her to 
tell me her real name. One thing, however, is 
certain. She is as beautiful as an angel ; and if 
Louisa had not told me, by way of prevention, 
that she was married, I certainly should have 
fallen in love with her. By the golden lyre of 
Apollo," he exclaimed, looking out at the door, 
" there she is now. Quick, or yon wont get a 
sight of her." 

Sedley ran to the door, and looked in tlic di- 
rection indicated by Stafford. 

"Do you mean the lady in the palm-leaf 
shawl r' 

" No, indeed, the one in the black mantilla. 
There, she turns her face this way. Isn't she 
beautiful '?" 

" Why, that is Ellen." 
"Ellen? Who is Ellen f 
" My wife." 

" Why, I thought that you did not tolerate 
literaiy ladies." 

" You thought right — I do not tolerate them. 
Ellen never wrote a line of poetry in her life." 
" Are you certain of it V 

"Yes, I think I may say that I am certain of 
it. I once spent three months in a family where 
there was a has hleti, and ever since, I have en- 
tertained a perfect horror of the whole sister- 
hood, and believe that I should be able to detect 
one of them at once, though ever so closely dis- 
guised. The one I boarded With was, as she 
told me, writing a nniversal history, an epic 
poem, and a tragedy ; and compelled herself to 
work on one or the other of them sixteen hours 
in every twenty-four. That I cared not for, if 
sliG had not so frequently seized me by the .sleeve, 
or a coat-button, and compelled me to listen to 
her, while she repeated passages from her poem 



and tragedy. Unfortunately, she had seen an 
engraving from the i>orti'ait of Mrs. Siddons, 
which delineated her in the character of the 
Tragic Muse ; and in reciting to me what she 
termed the deeper passages of her tragedy, she 
attempted to imitate the attitude and expression 
of countenance as tliere portrayed. At last, I 
became so nervous at the idea of being obliged 
to listen to her, that I exclianged my boarding- 
place." 

"And you think her a fair specimen of the 
whole class of literary ladles?" 

" I know of no reason why I should think 
otherwise." 

" You are behind the times, Sedley. The 
opinion you express would have been well 
enough suited to the last century, and it may bo, 
the beginning of the nineteenth century, but not 
to the present time. Fomicrly, people imagined 
that the same head which could compose a figure 
in rhetoric, was totally incompetent to concoct a 
pudding; while fijigcrs, which could with any 
dexterity handle a pen, would be sorely puzzled 
in attcmjjting to darn a stocking. It, however, 
has been pi-oved by actual experiment, that the 
same lady may compose a good poem, and make 
a still better pudding ; that she may write pas- 
sable stories and sketches, and yet by no means 
be an anomaly." 

Sedley slightly shrugged his shoulders, as he 
said : 

" Since you like literary ladies so well, I ad- 
vise 3'ou, if ever you man-y, to select one for a 
wife. For my own part, I am content with one 
whose tastes arc thoroughly domestic." 

" And whose personal attractions are of the 
first order," said Stafford, smiling. 

So certain was Sedley that his wife never un- 
dertook to write anything, except a school com- 
position, or a familiar letter, that he scarce gave 
the circumstance of her having been pointed out 
to him as the authoress of the poem Stafibrd had 
read to him, a second thought. 

At the time of the foregoing conversation, Mr. 
Scdley was one of the most prosperous merchants 
in the city. Six montlis afterward, in conse- 
quence of some lieavy losses, he became much 
embarrassed. Ellen saw that he was troubled 
about something, and, in answer to her earnest 
inquiries, he, at last, reluctantly confessed to her 
the true state of his affairs. He, however, by 
great exertion, continued to stem the tide which 
threatened to overwhelm them. 

Several months passed in this manner, when 
one day he found that on account of being disap- 
pointed relative to the receipt of a sum on which 
he had confidently counted, he should be unable 
to meet a lieavy pajTnent due the bank. The 
probable consequence of this, by exciting the 
alarm of several to whom he was indebted, would 
be to involve him in ruin. He had applied to a 
number of persons, whom he had from time to 
time accommodated in the same way, to borrow 
the necessary amount, but not a single applica- 
tion had proved successful. In one hour more 
the bank would be closed, and he would be a 
bankrupt. He was seated in the inner apartment 
of his store, gloomy and despondent, when his 
Avife entered, with a face radiant with smiles. 
His first emotion at seeing her appear so happy 
when he was so miserable, savored somewhat of 
anger, which he, however, at once checked, as 
mean and selfish. 

" I have come to ask a boon," said she. 
The vision of a cashmere shawl, which, previ- 
ous to the embarrassed state of his pecuniary af- 
faii's, he had voluntarily promised her, rose before 
him, and the gloom darkened upon his brow. 

" Will you not promise to grant it?" said she, 
regarding with some alarm the sudden change in 
his countenance. 

" It is impossible," said he (he was still haunt- 
ed witli the vision of the cashmere shawl.) " In 
less than an hour I shall be known as a mined 
merchant." 

" That is what I suspected, fiom what my 
brother told me," said she, " and on that I found 
my only hope, that you will grant what I came 
to ask." 

" You speak in riddles ; what is it you came 
to ask ?" 

" Your forgiveness." 
" On what account ?" 

" For daring to have a talc printed, which for 
the last three years I ha\'c amused myself by 
writing." 

Ellen, arc you in earnest?" 
" I am." 

" And you did this witli a knowledge that a 
has bleu is my aversion ?" 



" I plead guilty." 

" You, at least, miglit have consulted me." 

I should, only I feared your prohibition." 

" You did ?" 

There was not much in these two monosylla- 
bles, but the manner in which they were »pokca 
was expressive ol' anger. 

"Ipcrceive," said she, "that youdcem my of- 
fence unpai'donable ; but good, you know, may 
sometimes come out of evil. If I had not luul 
my book printed, I could not make you thi.s 
trifling birthday present." (Sedley was that 
very day twenty-eight.) 

As she spoke she handed him a roll of bank- 
bills. 

" Please count them," said Ellen. " I believe 
there is rather more than the sum you are in 
immediate want of." 

" I am afraid, Ellen," .said he, hastening to 
obey her, for there was no time to lose, " that 
this will prove a fairy gift — that before I can 
appropriate them, these bills will change to 
worthless bits of paper." 

" Tlierc is no danger tliat the gift of a good 
fairy will change," said she. 

" Then there is no danger. But what am I 
to understand? Is this money really yours, or 
have you been more successful than I, and bor- 
rowed it? " 

" It was mine, but now belongs to you, on 
condition that you will pardon me for selling the 
storj-, this day published, by which I obtained 
it." 

" I accept the condition, and well I may, for 
what I hold in my hand will save me from ruin. 
I will confess, however, tliat I am rather aston- 
ished at finding my wife a blue-stocking." 

" I don't think the term applicable to me. I 
have always had the impression that the genuine 
blue-stocking among women, is much the same 
as the pedant among men, and at the present 
day we have very few of eirhcr. I can moreover 
assure you, that until you met with those heavy 
losses, which caused you so much pecuniary em- 
barrassment, I never thought of writing a line, 
except for amusement, after I found that you were 
somewhat prejudiced against literary ladies." 

" Well, I will own that my prejudices were, at 
least in one instance, unreasonable. But how 
you could manage to write a book without my 
ever having caught you slipshod, out at the el- 
bows, with dishevelled hair, or ink-stained fin- 
gers, or without ever finding my wardrobe out of 
order, or my meals badly prepared, is a mystery 
to me." 

"A simple statement of my mode of procedure, 
at some time when you have the leisure to listen, 
will, I think, clear up the mystery. For my own 
part, I should not think much of a head which 
had no room for anything but receipts in cookery 
and Parisian fashions." 



Ellen Sedley's book proved so popular, that a 
second edition was soon called for; yet there was 
no change in her domestic habits, and one of the 
uninitiated would never have suspected that she 
was more literary than her neighbors. 

Stafford and otliers among Sedley's friends and 
acquaintances did not fail to rally him on the 
subject of his aversion to ladies of a literary turn, 
which he invariably bore with great good Iiumor. 
He even had the magnanimity to confess that his 
wife's talents had saved him from bankruptcy. 
"But then Ellen," he was in the habit of adding, 
" was an exception to the general rule." 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
LOVE AND AFFECTION, 

BY FINLET JOUNSON. 

As floivers in the Gpring-timo 

Break through the frozen ground, 
And their rich fragrance scatter 

Upon the air around ; 
So love and true affection, 

As in the soul they start, 
Break through the frozen groundwork 

Which gathers round the heart. 

If hearts arc cold ond icy, 

Speak thou with kindly tone; 
And warm them with affection 

And love, which is thine own; 
The iciest hearts are melted 

By love's endearing voice, 
And true affection causes 

The sad soul to rejoice. 

Distrust all those who love you extremely 
upon a very slight acquaintance, and without any 
visible reason. Be upon your guard, too, agninst 
those who confess, as their weaknesses, all the 
cardinal virtues. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



15 



ELOQUENT TRIBVTE. 

The following is copied from the Trumpet and 
TJnivei-salist Miigiiziue, and is from the pen of 
the editor, Rev. Thomas Whittcmorc, rchitivc 
to the late decease of Rev. Hosea Ballon. It is 
not common for men in tliese mercenary times, 
these days of cold selfishness, to speak out thus 
freely and honestly from the heart. AVe are at 
a loss which most to admire — the eloquence of 
the pass:\ge, or the sincerity which dictates it. 

" For myself {for I will tlirow off the editorial 
style), I acknowledge that I feel most deeply the 
loss of this steadfast friend. I mourn, not for 
him, hut for myself. To me he had hecn a father. 
He found me in my early manhood, and drew 
me out from seclusion. He taught my lips to 
I>iay. He turned my attention to the ministry ; 
and' he sought and obtained the means to sup- 
port me when I had not a cent with which to 
help myself. He was in the desk with me ivlien 
I stood up tremblingly (in the Town House in 
Roxbury) to preach my first sermon. He intro- 
duced me to the society in Milford, Mass., where 
I hi\d my first pastoral charge, and where I 
formed the tenderest relation of human life ; and 
lie was the cause of my being invited, in tlie year 
1822, to settle at Cambridgeport, where I ever 
since have lived. For six years thercjifter, I 
associated with liim in conducting the ' Univer- 
salist Magazine ;' and from that time to his 
death, he has hecn a constant contributor to the 
columns of the ' Trumpet,' refusing for the last 
ten years all pecuniary compensation, although 
repeatedly pressed upon him. He has been the 
earnest, steadfast friend of my wife and children ; 
my eartlily guide and counsellor, who has re- 
proved me, but not too often ; my teacher to the 
end of his life ; a man of whom I have learned 
more concerning God and the divine word, and 
tlie relation between God and man, than I have 
learned from any other human source. How 
can the event of such a man's death transpire, 
without exciting in me extraordinary sensibility '? 
And yet I am not inconsolable. AVlien I reflect 
upon what he was, — upon the length of his life, — 
upon the great measure of good lie accomplished. 
— upon the fact that he was permitted (although 
so much away) to die at home, surrounded by 
his most exemplary and loving children, after a 
very brief sickness, and to die so gently, almost 
in the act of binding sheaves in the harvest-field, 
— I cease to mourn. I thank God that I saw 
him within an hour of his death, and that he 
knew me, and extended his Iiand, and tliat I 
was permitted to take it and kiss it. And now, 
although there never will be, for there never can 
be, another man to me like Father Ballou, I will 
be reconciled. And I will close this brief sketch 
with the words of Job, — ' The Lord gave, and 
the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name 
of the Lord.' " 



AItrERICO-BOIIE3II.\iV GLASS. 

A recent visit to Boston gave us an opportu- 
nity of visiting the New England Glass Works 
(says a contemporary), which, for the extent 
and variety of their operations, probably surpass 
all others in the country. "We were repeatedly 
struck with the fact, new to us, that most of the 
exquisite, richly colored and decorated glass 
ware, which is so much admired under the name 
of "Bohemian glass," is manufactured at these 
works. The variety and beauty of the articles 
manufactured there would scarcely be credited by 
one not a visitor ; but we assure our readers that 
we saw many works that could not be surpassed 
in Bohemia or anywhere else in Europe. The 
various processes by which the different colors 
and the rich gilding are produced, we are not 
prepared to describe ; but they are produced at 
these works in the utmost perfection. The com- 
pany has the advantage of a charter and a large 
capital, which enable them thus to compete suc- 
cessfully with foreign manufacturers in this work. 



The "Whalers. — Letters received at Warren, 
R. L, from the Sandwich Islands, dated in April 
last, say that the whalers there are having a bad 
time, particularly with their crews. Some ships 
have lost half their crews by desertion, others 
have men in irons, and two ships have been set 
on fire — wliieh will, as the writer adds, "be tlie 
means of ruining a large portion of the voyages 
in this ocean." 



Lrsus Natue.e. — In Sheldon, Wyoming coun- 
ty, there is a girl only seven years of age, who 
has a full moustache on the upper lip, large 
enough for a cavalry ofticcr, and beard, which, 
though fit only for " a middling grenadier," is 
Urge enough to be the envy of city striplings of 
21 or 22 years of age. This unusual growth of 
hair began when she was five years old, since 
which time it has been repeatedly plucked out- 



Slave Trade ix Brazil. — Advices from 
Brazil report the opening of parliament. The 
emperor in a speech sa^^s he has done mucli to 
suppress the slave trade, and will continue his 
efforts until it is altogether extinguished. 



lllaj]siiJe ©atljcriugs. 

The jail of Clermont Co., Ohio, is tenantlcss. 

Mr. Clay, at last accounts, was barely alive at 
his quarters in Washington. 

General Wiufield Scott is sixty-six yeare old, 
Daniel Webster is seventy-one. 

Ttie Chinese are about to commence the cul- 
ture of tea in California. 

Mr. Stevens, of the Revere House, has become 
lessee of the Tremont House. 

General Caleb Cushing has resigned the office 
of mayor of Newburyport for his judgeship. 

An iron bridge is to be thrown across the 
Nashua River at Indian Head. 

The Ravel Family, forty in number, are very 
successful at the Howard Athcnaium. 

The new " Musical Hall," Boston, is fast ap- 
proaching to completion. It is most creditable. 

We regret to see by the New Orleans papers 
that the cholera is raging there. 

The Kentucky tobacco crop has been recently 
injured by frosts. 

The democratic nominee for vice-president has 
been a U. S. senator for thirty-two years. 

Miss Davenport, accompanied by her mother, 
has been on a visit to Niagara. 

Scrope Davis, the wit, the scholar, and the 
early friend of BjTon, is no more. 

The army worm is playing sad havoc in the 
meadows near Franklin, Tenn. 

Eighty-nine head of yearling mules were sold 
recently, at Bedford, la., at §48 each. 

Wives should see to it that the lives of tlieir 
husbands are insured. 

A wagoner was fined S7.50, recently, at Mays- 
ville, for severely whipping one of his horses. 

Accounts from all points of Illinois represent 
the wheat cxop to be in a most flourishing condi- 
tion. 

Upwards of fifty ships have sailed from China 
for California, taking, it is estimated, about 
15,000 emigrants. 

The cholera has made its appearance on the 
Mississippi, and fears are entertauaed of its ra- 
pid spread. 

Mrs. J. W. Ford, wife of a XJniversalist m.inis- 
ter at Springfield, came near losing her life by 
drinking a swallow of washing fluid by mistake. 

The London Builder siiggests tliat the " exact 
outline of the area lately occupied by the Crys- 
tal Palace should be planted with trees." 

A son of Merrill Wheeler, and Sara. Tweedy 
(colored), were drowned in 3?royjdence harbor, 
lately, by tlie upsetting of a boat. 

Rachel is playing before the Emperor of Rus- 
sia, at Berliu, having left i*ari3 earlier in the 
season than usual, on purpose. 

Patrick McEvoy, a teamster in the employ of 
C. P. Talbot ^ Co., of Lowell, fell from his wa- 
gon in Aiidover, recently, and broke his neck. 

A man named Pierce Bickford was nearly 
killed by the bursting of a cannon at London, 
N. H., lately. If he recovers, he will lose the 
use of his eyes and both arms. 

Sir James Mackintosh is to have a monument. 
The promoters of the scheme are Macaulay, Hal- 
lam. Lords Mahon, Brougham an^ Jiansdowne, 
and Sir R. Inglis. 

Mr. McCormick has sent outfiye hundred and 
eighty-one reapers and mowing machines the 
pi-escnt season. One was sent to Germany, one 
hundred to " the Jerseys," and one to El Dorado. 

Dr. Henry Andrus, of Chester, Mass., has 
been holdeu in SIOOO to take his trial for stealing 
notes to the amount of $3000 fiom Lydia An- 
drus, his aunt, in March last. He procured bail. 

The average length of Western passages per- 
fonned by the Collins line is ten days, twenty- 
one hours and ten minutes ; of the Cunard, 
eleven days, four hours and thirteen minutes. 

A vei'flicf; of §1000 damages has been render- 
ed in Providence against Jo.scph Pinkham, of 
New England Village, in Graflon, for breaking 
his marriage promise ^vith Martha H. E^olbrook, 
of Providence. 

The expense of- receiving and entertaining 
Kossuth, in Albany, will be about $1000, The 
New York Times estimates the amount of ma- 
terial aid he received in tjhis country at about 
5150,000. 

Mr. Caleb Dnstin was shook down in Ne\y 
York, last Saturday week, by the pocket-book 
droppers. He belongs in Derry, N. H., and 
paid S20 for his initiation into tlie mysteries of 
the art. 

The London Times comments upon the fact 
that in nine cases in ten of wreck or disaster at 
sea, many lives are lost because the boats pro- 
vided expressly for such emergencies are either 
out of order or cannot be used. 

The Empress of Russia is in a very bad state 
of health at Potsdam, scarcely able to leave her 
couch. She is represented as being extremelv 
debilitated, and supported chiefly by medical 
stimulants. 

We see in an Edinburgh paper a statement 
that in South Carolina not a single divorce has 
taken place since the close of the revolutionary 
war ! Let us hear no more of " disunion," then, 
in that quarter. 

The Bostonians, ive observe, are moving, or 
preparing to move, or at least recommending one 
another to move, in the matter of providing a 
band of music to play in the evenings on the 
Common, during tlie summer. 



Jorcigu Ulisccllang. 

The British have taken Rangoon and one hun- 
dred and fifty cannon. 

Sir Henry L. Bulwer arrived at Florence on 
the 19tli nit., as British minister to Tuscany. 

During the first week m June it was expected 
that sub-marine telegraphic communication 
would be established between England and 
Leland. 

There are fourteen hundred and ninety-two 
works of art in the London exhibition, this year. 
The number of contributors is eight hundred and 
sixty-six. 

Gold continues to come in from the Austi'alian 
placers. The Hinialayah and Sarah Anna from 
Port Philippe, bring 41,000 ounces, valued at 
XU0,000 sterling. 

In Ital}', Piedmont excepted, every one hun- 
dred and fourteenth man of the population is in 
prison. Every four hundredth man of the popu- 
lation is in exile. 

Lord John Russell has issued an address to 
the electors of London, and will again be a can- 
didate for the representation of the metropolis 
at the ensuing election. 

Col. Eyre has had a severe action with a body 
of Caffrcs, in which he lost one captain and sev- 
eral men. The 12th Lancers also had a smart 
brush with the enemy. 

The Portuguese government was contemplat- 
ing a revision of the tariff' import-duties. Anew 
cabinet was being formed with the Marquis 
d'Ageglio as president. 

At Paris, on the 2-ith of May, the council of 
state, Louis Napoleon presiding, adopted a bill 
of public instruction, and ordered it to be sent 
to the legislative body. 

Lord Stanley states officially that Great Brit- 
ain lays no claim to the Lobox Guano Island; 
but the admiral on the station has sent a ship 
there to protect British interests. 

M. de Hackcron's mission from Louis Napo- 
leon to the emperors of Russia and Austria, lias 
proved a complete failure, as he could not obtain 
an audience from either of those potentates. 

Maj. Gen. Cathcart, the new governor, had 
arrived at British Caftraria, and commenced 
operations wliere Sir Harry Smith left off. Noth- 
ing can be known of the issue for an arrival or 
two. 

The accounts from Paris are principally occu- 
pied with speculations on tiie coalition fonned 
against Louis Napoleon by the northern powers, 
during the visit of the emperor of Russia to Vi- 
enna and Berlin. 



SauLis of ©ollt. 



. . . .Idle men are dead all their lives long. 

If you would know the value of money, 

earn it. 

To cm'c a fit of passion, walk out into the 

open air. 

.... Genuine politeness is the first-born off- 
spring of generosity and modesty. 

. . . .Pride is a vice, which inclines men to find 
it in others, and to overlook it in tlicmselves. 

. . . .You cannot truly love, and ought not to 
be loved, if you ask anything that virtue con- 
demns. 

.... Conceit is to nature what paint is to 
beauty ; it is not only needless, but impairs what 
it would improve. 

... .It is an argument of a truly brave dispo- 
sition in a learned man, not to assume the name 
and character of one. 

.... Wise men are instracted by reason, men 
of less understanding by experience, the most 
ignoi'ant by necessity, and brutes by nature. 

, . . . True philosophy, says Plato, consists 
more in fidelity, constancy, justice, sincerity, and 
in the love of our duty, than a great capacity. 

.... Choose the company of your superiors, 
whenever yon can have it; that is the right and 
true pride. The mistaken and silly pride is, to 
prima- among inferiors. 

Balzac, the great ^viiter in French prose, 

who ^-^xQ harmony and majesty to a pei'iod, it is 
said did not grudge to bestow a week on a page, 
and was never satisfied with his first thoughts. 

Look at the beautiful star, the first and 

the brightest. I have often thought it was like 
the promise of life beyond the tomI>— a pledge to 
us, that, in the depths of midnight, the earth 
shall have a light, unquenchable, from heaven. 

Guilt, thougli it may attain temporal 

splendor, can never confer real happiness. The 
evil consequences of our crimes long survive 
their commission, and, like the ghosts of the 
murdered forever haunt the steps of tlie male- 
factor. 

"No enjoyment," says Sydney Smith, 

" however inconsiderable, is confined to' the pres- 
ent moment. A man is the happier for life 
from having made once an agreeable tour, or 
lived for any length of time with pleasant people, 
or enjoyed any considerable interval of innocent 
pleas m'c." 

. . . .If there is any mannerism that is univer- 
sal among mankind, it is that of coloring too 
highly tlie things we describe. We cannot be 
content with a simple relation of truth ; we must 
exaggerate ; we must have " a little too much 
red in the brush." Who ever lieard of a dark 
night that was not " pitch dark," of a stout man 
who was not "as strong as a horse." 



iJoltrr's Bubget. 



Ladies can draw a beau into a knot at the hy- 
meneal altar. 

When a man looks a little pale, thoughts of 
kicking the bucket naturally suggest themselves. 

The only two great watering places now in 
the Union are Maine and Massacliusetts. 

"My inkstand is stationary," as the school- 
master said when he found it nailed to his desk. 

How is it that the trees can put on a new dress, 
without opening their trunks ? It is because they 
have out their summer clothing. 

There is no danger of a missionary ever being 
lost, from this one fact : they always, no matter 
where they go, leave their tracts (tracks) behind 
them. 

A theatrical friend of ours had a most remu- 
nerative benefit a few evenings ago, and has not 
turned up since. It is supposed that he is taking 
the "Benefit of the Act." 

Everybody of course knows that Alboni has 
arrived. We merely take this opportunity of 
expressing our surprise that a lady, luxuriating 
in embonpoint, should be called All-bouey. 

" John," said a cockney solicitor to his son, 
" I see you'll never do for an attorney, you have 
no /(energy." " Skuse me, father," replied John, 
" what I want is some of your chiclenary ." 

A certain barrister, who was remarkable for 
coming into court with dirty hands, observed, 
"that he had been turning over Coke." "I 
should have thought that it was coals you had 
been turning over," observed a wag. 

" You've destroyed my peace of mind, Betsy," 
said a desponding lover to a truant lass. "It 
can't do you much harm, John, for 'twas an 
amazing small piece you had, any way," was the 
quick reply. 

A young lady was discharged from one of the 
largest vinegar houses in our city, one day last 
week. She was so stceet that the vinegar was 
kept from fermenting. — Cincinnati Enquirer. 

" What a pity," said Jethro, as he read the 
above, " that that 3"oung lady aint in Massachu- 
setts to sweeten vinegar when our cider rations 
are stopped." — Sprii.njield Post. 



VOLUMES 1st & 2d. 

GLEASON'S PICTORIAL. 

■\Vo havo volumes 1st and 2d of the Pictorial Drawing 
Room Compamos eleg-antly bound in cloth, with gilt edges 
and back, and illumined sides, forming a superb and most 

attractive parlor ornament in the shape of a book of 

Between Four and Five Hundred Pages, 

AND co^TAI^■l^■G nearly 

ONE THOUSAND ENGRAVINGS 

of Men, Manner?), and current Events all over the world ; 
of Scenery in all parts of the Globe ; of famous Cities, and 
beautiful Villages; of Pageants at home and abroad; of 
fine Maritime Views ; and, in short, of an infinite variety 
of interesting and instructive subjects ; with an 

ILLXIMINED TITLE-PAGE AND INDEX 

of great beauty and artistic excellence, and forming a very 
brilliant frontispiece to the volume, 

Lesides the many illustrations, it embraces in its pages 
a vast amount of original Tales, Sketches, Poems and Nov- 
elettes, from the best of American authors, with a current 
News Record of the times ; altogether forming an exceed- 
ingly novel and elegant volume, for future reference and 
present enjoyment, both iu regard to reading matter and 
illustrations. 

For sale at the Publication Office, by our Wholesale 
Agents, and at all the Periodical Depots throughout the 
Union, for Three Dollars per volume. 



THE FLAG OF OUR UNJOIN, 

AN ELEGANT, MORAL AND KEEINED 

Miscellaneous Family Journal, 

Devoted to polite literature, wit and humor, prose and 
poetic gems, and original prize talcs, written expressly for 
this paper, and at a very great cost. In politics, and on 
all .'Sectarian questions, it is strictly neutral. Nothing of 
an immoral nature will ever be admitted into its columns ; 
therefore making it emphatically, 

A PAPER POR THE MnXION, 

AND A WELCOME VISITOR TO TIIE UOME CIRCLE. 

It is generally acknowledged that the Flag is now tbo 
leading weekly paper in the United States, and its literary 
contents are allowed, by the best judges, to be unsurpassed. 

It contains the- foreign and domestic news of the day, 
so condensed as to enable us to give the greatest possible 
amount of intelligence. No advertisements are admitted 
to the paper, thus offering the entire sheet, which is of 

THE MAMMOTH SIZE, 

for the instruction and amusement of the general reader. 
An unrivalled corps of contributors are regularly engaged, 
and every department is under the most finished and per- 
fect system that experience can suggest, or money produce. 
Lacking neither the means nor the will, we can lay before 
our hundreds of thousands of readers an 

the present circulation of which far exceeds that of any 
other weekly paper in the Union. 

TEEMS TO STTBSCEIBEES. 

1 subscriber, one year S2 00 

3 subscribers, " 5 00 

4 " '■ e 00 

8 " " 11 00 

16 " " 20 00 

One copy of the Flag op oub Union, and one copy of the 
Pictorial Dr.vwing-Room CoMPAKioN,one year, for 5500. 

ICr' Invariably in advance. 

Subscribers or postmostei-s arc requested to act as agents, 
and form clubs, on the above terms. 

\ry= All orders should be addressed, post paid, to the 
PUBLISIIER OP TUE FL.VG OF OUR UnIOK. 

*4,* The Flag can be obtained at any rf the i:e a- ■'i- ' 
tldpofs in the United Slates, and of newspaper carrun, at 
FOUR CENTS per single copy. 

F. GLEASON, 

PUBLISllE^AND PEOPRIETOIt, BoSTOSj MASS. 



16 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



GENERAL FRANKLIIV PIERCE, 

DEMOCRATIC CANniPATK FOR TIIK PKEfllDKNCY. 

For the sketch horcwith given of the Dcino- 
criitic cJindidiUi.^ fni- the picsidciicv, fo aceom- 
pany tlic iinc likmrss liclow, \vv nrr iinlchtcil to 
the lute life (if (iniernl I'iciTC, imldished sineo 
liis nomination. The reader mnst make allow- 
anee for tlie earnest, not to s!iy fulsome ehnracter 
of the style, from tiie fact of the book being- pub- 
lished as a eainpai;^n document. As ive have 
nothing to do witli jiolities, we neither endorse 
nor deny tlie statements of tlie general's political 
friends eonecrning him. Gen. iVank Pierce, as 
he signs his own name, was bora in 1804, and is 
consequently 48 years old. lie is the son of tlio 
late Gen. Benjamin Pierce, 
wlio fought so nobly during 
the Revolutionary war, filled 
so many oHiees of trust and 
])ower, and who was governor 
of New Hampshire in 1827 
and in 1829. He was aman of 
more personal popularity than 
any man that ever lived in the 
State. At a very early age 
Mr, Pierce was elected to tlie 
legislature of New Hamp- 
shire ; and having for several 
years distinguished himself, 
both as a member and as the 
Speaker of the House, he was 
in 1833 sent to Congress as 
the Democratic representative 
from the district in which he 
was born. At the time he 
appeared in Congress, the 
lujstility which had been in- 
flamed against Gen. Jackson, 
liad reached and passed its 
culminating point. He had 
had to contend with a large 
majority in Congress, and this 
majority was bent upon liis 
rain as a public man. All the 
agencies that are called in to 
crash a great citizen rising 
into fame had been tried. 
Calumny had exhausted its 
venom, and hatred had belch- 
ed forth all its malignity. But 
the heroic old man had gone 
through it all unscathed — the 
people of the country had ral- 
lied around him, and placed 
the seal of their approbation 
upon all his public acts. But 
there was still a very power- 
ful organization against him, 
and it was a time when there 
was no half-way policy in 
Washington. The very day 
that a man took his seat, he 
was expected to make his 
mai'k, if he had chai*acter 
enough to make one. Frank 
Pierce had ; and from the mo- 
ment he entered the House of 
Representatives it became ev- 
ident enough what course he 
would take. He stood by 
Gen. Jackson from the first 
to the last hour of his admin- 
istration. When others de- 
serted him, Pierce only clung 
to him the closer — when no- 
body else would rise in his 
place. Pierce sprang to his 
feet, and in one of those bold, 
brave, fearless, patriotic and 
stirring speeches, in which he 
so much excels, he liurlcd 
back the tide of obloquy and 
attack upon the political foes 
of the greatest man who had 
filled the presidential chair 
since the time of Washington. 
His integrity of principle won 
the respect of Gen. Jackson, 
and he reciprocated the kind- 
ness of his feelings by the most 
deyoted attachment. He was 
often at the hospitable board, 
and by the genial fireside of 
that great patriot, who now 
sleeps in the quiet shades of 
the Hermitage. He loved him 
with an affection that is sel- 
dom felt by one man for 
another, and the stcmness of 
Jackson's character was such, 
that he never was awed into 
respect for any man, unless 
he discovered in him simplic- 
ity, honesty, i-esolution and 
patriotism. Wliile Mr. Pierce 
was still a member of the 
House of Representatives, he 
was, by a large majority of 
the legislature of New Hamp- 
shire, elected a member of the United States 
Senate for the term of six years, commencing in 
1837. Here he remained till the year 1842, when 
he resigned his office, entirely on account of the 
ill health of his wife, who suffered in the climate 
of Washington. During his ten years in Con- 
gi-ess, in spite of the earnestness of his debate, 
the unbending steraness of his political inter- 
course — his uncompromising devotion to the 
great principles of the Democratic party, his 
warm and e raest defence of Gen. Jackson, his 
unwavering dhorcnec with regard to the feel- 
ings even of iiis friends to the strictest construc- 
tion of the constitution ; yet he could hardly have 
made or had a personal enemy in Washington, 
His retirement from the Senate in 1842, was wit- 
nessed with much regret ; and when he left tlic 



senate chamber for the last time, every token of 
respect wjis shown to him. The fathers of the 
Senate, Clay, Bcnlori, King, Calhoun and nnuiy 
others, gathered around him with every denioti- 
stration of liigli ]>crsonid regard, and every assur- 
ance that he would long he rememljcrcd hy 
them. Having, from tiie time his education 
commenced, fixed his eye upon the law as the 
profession to foUowforlife, Mr. Pierce had given 
to it the intenscst study after he left college, and, 
although so many public offices were forced upon 
him, that his studies were somewhat interrupted, 
he kept the great object of Iiis life in view, and 
not a day passed away, nor has till the present 
time, without adding to Ins legal knowledge or 



the wholp stock of knowledge ever committed 
them, when called on. The moment siu-li men 
have to speak, or write, or act, all that they have 
ever read, or heard, or known, or had a chance 
to know, springs to their aid in just the order 
they want to use it. This makes a I'cady speak- 
er. This quality, possessed in so eminent a de- 
gree by Fi'ank Pierce, makes him a great, intel- 
ligent, and practical lawyer, and from one step 
to another lie passed all the grades that lie be- 
tween the stinlent who opens Blackstonc, and 
the highest principles of national law. He is a 
man of fact and not of fancy, and yet there is a 
warm, deejj-flowing, generous stream of feeling 
and enthusiasm running through his nature. 




GENERAL FRANKLIN PIERCE, DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE FOR TKE PRESIDENCY. 



experience. From the beginning he was suc- 
cessful as an advocate. He Avas always eleai*- 
headed, straight-forward, acute in his perceptions, 
earnest in his studies, curious in his inquiries, 
and remembering all that he heard or read, emi- 
nently practical in the turn of his mind, he was 
able, without an effort, to reduce all the theories 
of tlie science of law to practical conclusions. 
He offers a striking illustration of a kind of in- 
tellect that seems to be somewhat peculiar to 
New England men — we speak of a mind curious 
enough to be always seeking for light, capacious 
enough to hold everything, and yet withal, en- 
dowed with that rare property which we will call 
the chemical power of aiTanging for itself, without 
labor to its possessor, all the knowledge he has 
acquired. Such minds furnish, ready for use, 



which makes him feel the tenderest sympathy 
for whatever belongs to the better feelings, and 
the noblest and quickest appreciation of every- 
thing there is in young men, that promises to do 
some good to the country. He never repelled a 
young man that came to him for aid. He has 
aided many a penniless youth of talent in the 
eavly struggle to gain education, and under his 
kind auspices, many an indigent young man has 
been encouraged to go forward noi)ly on the 
battle of life. In the meantime his eminence in 
his profession compelled him to appear in many 
of the most important causes that were tried be- 
fore the Circuit Courts of the United States and 
the supreme trilninal of New Hampshire. Public 
institutions and corporations retained him as 
their counsel, and he has always managed such 



causes, like all others, with so much ability, that 
he is justly regarded as standing at the very head 
of his profession. Something more, however, 
might be said with simple verity; for one of the 
characteristics of his professional life has been, 
that, after laying deep the foundations of his argu- 
ment, with the taste of a scholar and the emotions 
of an orator, he always gave some freedom to 
the activity ami energy of his fancy, in graceful 
embellishments, striking appeals, and electric 
attacks — qualities which alone can give the fin- 
ishing stroke to the fame of the ban-Jster. His 
cmineiici- ill thi- bar h:id alicady di.-sigiiated him 
for ihe highest ap|)ointment in his native State, 
and lie was chosen In' Gen. Jackson as the 
District Attorney of the Uni- 
ted States for New llamj)- 
fihire. Again, on the acces- 
sion of Mr. Polk, the same 
office was ofil'ered lo him ; but 
not feeling it liis duty to ac- 
cept, when another good man 
could be found, and wishing 
to have leisure to attend to 
his own affairs, which lie had 
so long neglected for the pub- 
lic service, and desiring to 
devote himself to the charities 
and felicities of home, he de- 
clined the nomination. But 
his professional engagements 
and domestic repose were to 
be again disturbed by an un- 
forseen and momentous event. 
The soil of tlie United States 
was invaded, and the lives 
and property of our citizens 
sacrificed to the barbarous as- 
saults of the stranger. The 
nation flew to arms. The 
States were called on to fur- 
nish volunteers for the war, 
and nobly was the call re- 
sponded to. Descended from 
a martial race, Frank Pierce 
could not resist the tempta- 
tion, and breaking away from 
the ties of his family, he en- 
listed as a common soldier, 
to fight the battles of his coun- 
try under the Union eagle. 
But that such a man, so ca- 
pable of leading an armj-, 
should serve in tlie ranks asa 
common soldier was not al- 
lowed. His country needed 
the aid of his mind as well as 
his arm, and he at once re- 
ceived a commission as Brig- 
adier General of the Volun- 
teers of New England. The 
people of Concord lost no time 
in offering to the general a 
fresh testimonial of their af- 
fection, and they raised the 
sum of S400, and purchased 
for him a splendid horse to 
ride in battle. When they 
heard the noble steed was dead 
they sent him another. These 
sums were not raised by a few 
personal friends. They were 
made up by small but numer- 
ous contributions from the 
great body of his fellow-citi- 
zens — men wlio had known 
him from cliildliood — who 
loved him for Iiis virtues — 
who respected him for his life- 
long honesty, and who knew 
he would rellect honor upon 
the arms of the country. In 
March, 1847, General Pierce 
received a commission, and 
took command of 2500 men 
for the Mexican war. In June 
he reached Vera Cruz, and 
remained in Mexico, taking 
an active part in various bat- 
tles during that campaign 
which ended so successfully 
for the American arms. On 
his return to his native State, 
the citizens of Concord, and 
thewhole State ofNew Hamp- 
shire, wished to offer some 
testimonial to General Pierce, 
but he modestly declined ev- 
ery honor that was proffered 
to him, and as he had always 
done through life, was more 
ready to aid in conferring 
honors upon his comrades 
than he was to receive them 
himself. At the late Demo- 
cratic Convention in Balti- 
more, General Pierce, on the 
forty-ninth ballot, received tlie 
nomination of that pai-tj', and 
now stands before the country a candidate for 
the highest office in the gift of the people. 

Let us acknowledge here our indel)tedncss to 
Fetridge & Co., periodic 1 agents and publishers, 
72 Washington street, ft r the original daguer- 
reotype from which our pi'ture is taken. This 
well-known and enterprising house will issue in 
a few days two very superior likenesses of Gen- 
eral Pierce — the one a lithograph, tlie other a 
very fine steel engraving. The public can thus 
supply themselves at a very modest charge 
with the counterfeit presentment of the Demo- 
cratic candidate for the presidency in a style 
suitable for framing. The Pictorial and Flag 
of our Union, with all the late publications 
may always be found on the counter of Messrs. 
Fetridge & Co. 




1? pTWiQAlM (CORNTJU BROMFIELD 
i< . triiili AOUiN , j AND TREMONT STS. 



BOSTON, SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1852. 



"focT^IS^^iVoL. III. No. 2.— Whole No. 54. 



THE COLUMBIAN AKTILLERY. 

Our artist has sketched for us helow a scene 
representing one of the best artillery companies 
of this city. The Columbian artillery company 
was chartered in 1798, and our artist has given 
them as they appeared a few days since, before 
the entrance of their annory, when celebrating 
their fifcy-fourth anniversary — it being the 17th 
of June — on which occasion they -visited Quincy 



and dined with Frcncli, the popular and gentle- 
manly landlord of tiie Hancock House. This 
company, in common with our artillery regiments 
generally, have laid aside their liea\'y guns, for 
ordinary pm*poses, and pai'adc as infantry, mak- 
ing a most spirited and soldier-like appearance. 
They turn out from fifty to fifty-four guns, and 
produce a most substantial and military effect. 
1'be uniform of the corps is blue and red, with 



bearskin caps, as represented in tlie skctcli. 
Their armory is in what is called the " Gun 
House," Cooper street, and the company is em- 
phatically a "North End" corps. The first 
commander of the Columbian xVrtillcry was 
Robert Gardner, Esq. ; the present efficient and 
popular commander is Elijali Thompson. This 
excellent body of citizen soldiery were never in 
a more prosperous condition than at the present 



time, and sbouhl duty call them into actual ser- 
vice, they woukl give good account of themselves. 
The spirit of good fellowship and brotherly feel- 
ing that has so long characterized this company, 
is worthy of all praise and emulation, and should 
seiwc to promote this excellent and most desir- 
able state of things in other city associations of 
this character. We wish them all and every 
worthv success. 




TTTE nOLUlVIBTAN AKTTLLERV, BOSTON. 



18 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



EDtci-cd accoiiling to Act of Congress, in tlio year 1852, by F. Glea»on, in tlie Clerli's Office of the 
District Court of Mussuchusetts. 



[wniTTEN EXPHESSLY FOn GLEASON'S riCTORIAL.] 



THE 

— on, — 

THE FORTUNES OF A SOLDIER. 

% Siwg of €m m\> if}i Cow €^i\U\hi$^ 

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY. 

[continued.] 



CHAPTER III. 

A SUDDEN INTRODUCTION. 

It was again wight in tlie capital ; the narrow 
streets were brilliantly lif};hted from the stove 
windows, but tlie crowd were no longer there. 
The heat of the long summer day had wearied 
the endurance of master and slave, and thousands 
had already sought that early repose which is so 
essential to the dwellers in the tropics. Stillness 
reigned over the drowsy city, save that the soft 
music which the governor-general's band dis- 
courses nightly in the Plaza, stole sweetly over 
the scene, until every air seemed heavy with its 
tender influence and melody. Now it swelled 
forth in the martial tones of a military band, and 
now its cadence was low and gentle as a fairy 
whisper, reverberating to the ear from the oppo- 
site shore of Regla, and the frowTiing walls of the 
Cabanas behind the Moro, and now swelling 
away inland among the coffee fields and sugar 
plantations. 

The long twilight was gone ; but still the deep 
streak of golden skirting in the western horizon 
lent a softened hue to the scene, not so bright to 
the eye, and yet more golden far than moonlight : 

" Leaving on craggy hills and running streams 
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams.'- 

At this favorite hour the Senorita Isabella 
Gonzales and her young brother, Ruez, attended 
only by the wolf hound, who seemed to be almost 
their inseparable companion, were once again 
EtroUing in the cool and retired walk of the Plato. 
The lady moved with all the peculiar grace so 
natural to the Spanish women, and yet through 
all, a keen observer might have seen the lurking 
effects of pride and power, a consciousness of her 
own extraordinary beauty, and the control it 
gave her over the hearts of those of the other sex 
with whom she associated. Alas ! that such a 
trait should have become a second nature to one 
with so heavenly a form and face. Perhaps it 
was owing to the want of the judicious manage- 
ment of a mother, of timely and kindly advice, 
that Isabella had grown up thus ; certainly it 
seemed hard, very hard, to attribute it to her 
heart, her natural promptings, for at times she 
evinced such traits of womanly delicacy and 
tenderness, that those who knew her best forgot 
her coquetry. 

Her brother was a gentle and beautiful boy. 
A tender spirit of melancholy seemed ever upper- 
most in his heart and face, and it had heen tlins 
with him since he had known his first early grief 
— the loss of his mother — some four or five years 
before the present period of our story. Isabella, 
though she was not wanting in natural tender- 
ness and affection, had yet outgrown the loss of 
her parent; but the more sensitive spirit of the 
boy had not yet recovered from the shock it had 
thus received. The father even feared that he 
never would regain his happy buoyancy, as lie 
looked upon his pale and almost transparent fea- 
tures, while the boy mused thoughtfully to him- 
self sometimes for the hour together, if left alone 
and undisturbed. 

"Ruez, dear, we've not been on the Plato since 

that fearful night," said Senorita Isabella, as she 

rested her hand gently upon the boy's shoulder. 

" It was a fearful night, sister," said the boy, 

recalling the associations with a shudder. 

"And yet how clear and beautiful it seemed 
just before that terrible accident." 
"I remember," said the boy. 



"And the slaver in the distance, with her soft 
white sails and treacherous business." 

"And the sparkling moon npon the bay." 
" It was very beautiful ; and we have a night 
now almost its equal." 

" Did you notice how stoutly that Lieutenant 
Bczan swam with me ?" 

" Yes, brother. You forget, though, that he 
is Captain Bezan now," she added. 

"Father told me so," said the boy. "How 
fearfully the tide ran, and the current set against 
us ! He held me way up above the water, while 
he was quite under it himself," continued Ruez. 
" I was sure he would drown ; didn't it seem so 
to you, sister V 

"It did, it did; the deed was most gallantly 
done," said Isabella, as she stooped down and 
kissed her brother; "and you will never be so 
careless again, Ruez?" 

" No, sister. I shall he more careful, but I 
should like to see that Captain Bezan again. I 
have never seen him since that night, and his 
baiTacks are within pistol shot from here." 

" Hark ! what was that ?" asked Isabella, stai-t- 
ing at some minsual noise. 

" I heard nothing," said the hoy. 
" There it is again," she continued, nervously, 
looking around. 

"Down, Carlo, doiiTi," said the boy, sharply 
to the hound, as it sprang at the same time from 
a crouching posture, and uttered a deep, angry 
growl, peculiar to its species. 

But the animal seemed too much aroused to 
be so easily pacified with words, and with heavy 
bounds sprang towards the seaward end of the 
Plato, over the parapet of which, where it joined 
a lofty stone wall that made a portion of the stone 
haiTacks of the army, a man leaped to the ground. 
The hound suddenly crouched, the moment it 
fairly reached the figure of the new corner, and 
instead of the hostile attitude it had so lately 
assumed, now placed its fore paws npon the 
breast of the person, and wagged its tail with 
evident tokens of pleasure at the meeting. 

" That is a veiy strange way to enter the 
Plato," said Isabella, to her brother, drawing 
nearer to his side as she spoke. "I wonder who 
it can be V 

" Some friend of Carlo's, for he never behaves 
in that way to strangers," said the boy. 

" So it would seem ; but here he comes, be he 
whom he may." 

" By our lady!" said the boy, earnestly, with 
a. flash of spirit and color across his usually quiet 
and pale face. " Sister, it is Captain Bezan ]" 

" Captain Bezan, I believe," said Isabella, 
conrtesying coolly to his respectful bow. 
" The same, lady." 

" Yon have chosen a singular mode of intro- 
duction, sir," said the Senorita Isabella Gonzales, 
somewhat severely, as she drew herself up with 
an air of cold reserve. 

" It is true, lady, I liave done a seemingly rash 
action; but if you will please to pause for one 
moment, you will at once realize that it was the 
only mode of introduction of which a poor sol- 
dier like myself could have availed himself." 
" Our hall doors are always open," replied 
Isabella Gonzales. 

" To the high bora and proud, I grant you, 
lady, but not to such as I am." 

" Then, sir," continued the lady, quickly, " if 
custom and propriety forbid you to meet me 
through the ordinary channels of society, do you 
not see the impropriety of rueh an attempt to see 



nic a« that wliich you liavc hut just now 
made ;" 

"Lady, I can see nothing, hear notliing but 
my unconqueralilc love !" 

" Love, sir !" repcratt.-d the lady, with a cm-1 of 
her proud but beautiful lip. 

"Ay, love, Lsahulla Gonzales. I'or years I 
have loved you in secret. Too humble to be- 
come known to you, or to attract your eye, even, 
I have yet nursed that love, like the better angel 
of my nature ; have dreamed of it nightly ; have 
prayed for the object of it nightly; have watclicd 
the starry heavens, and begged for some noble 
inspiration that would make me more worthy of 
thy affection ; I have read nothing that I did not 
couple in some tender way with thee; have 
nursed no hope of ambition or fame that was not 
the nearer to raise me to thee, and over the mid- 
night lamp have bent in earnestness year after 
year, that I might gain those jewels of the mind 
that in intelligence, at least, would place me by 
thy side. At last fortune befriended me, and I 
was able by a mischance to him, thy brother, to 
serve thee. Perhaps even then it might have 
ended, and my respect would still have curbed 
the promptings of my passion, had you not so 
kindly noticed me on the Pasco. 0, how wildly 
did my heart beat at that gentle, kind and 
thoughtful recognition of the poor soldier, and 
no less quickly beats that heax't, when you listen 
thus to me, and hear me tell you how deeply I 
love." 

" Audacity !" said Isabella Gonzales, really 
not a little aroused at the plainness of his speech. 
" How dare yon, sir, to address such language 
to me V 

"Love dares do anything but dislionor the 
being that it loves. A year, lady, a month 
ago, how hopeless was my love — how far off in 
the blue ether was the star I worshipped. Little 
did I then think that I should now stand so near 
to you — should thus pour out of the fullness of 
my enslaved and devoted heart, ay, thus look 
into those glorious eyes." 

" Sir, you are impertinent !" said Isabella, 
shrinking from the ardor of his expression. 

" Nay, lady," said the young officer, profound- 
ly humble, "it is hnpossible for such love as 
mine to lead to impertinence to one whom I lit- 
tle less than worship." 
"Leave me, sir!" 

" Yes, Isabella Gonzales, if you will repeat 
those words calmly ; if you will deliberately bid 
me, who have so often prayed for, so hoped for 
such a moment as this, to go, I unll go." 

"But, sir, you will compromise me by this 
protracted conversation." 

" Heaven forbid. But for you I would risk 
all things — life, reputation, all that is valuable to 
me in life ; yet perhaps I am forgetful, perhaps 
t'ionghtless." 

" What strange power and music there is in 
his voice," whispered Isabella, to herself. 

Completel}' puzzled by his deep respect, his 
gallant and noble bearing, the memory of his 
late noble conduct in saWng Ruez's life, Isabella 
hardly knew what to say, and she stood thus half 
confused, trotting her pretty foot npon the path 
of the Plato with a vexed air. At last, as if 
struggling to break the spell that seemed to he 
hanging over them, she said : 

" How could one like you, sir, ever dare to 
entertain such feelings towards me ? the auda- 
ciousness of your language almost strikes me 
dumb." 

"Lady," said the young soldier, respectfully, 
" the sincerity of my passion lias lieen its only 
self-sustaining power. I felt that love like mine 
could not be in vain. I was sure that such af- 
fection was never planted in my breast to bloom 
and blossom simply for disappointment. Icoitld 
not think that this was so." 

" I am out of all patience with his imperti- 
nence," said Isabella Gonzales, to herself, pet- 
tishly. " I don't know what to say to him." 

" Sir, you must leave this place at once," she 
said, at last, after a brief pause. 

" I shall do so, lady, at your bidding ; but only 
to pray and hope for the next meeting between 
US, when you may perhaps better know the poor 
soldier's heart." 

"Earewell, sir," said Isabella. 
"Farewell, Isabella Gonzales." 
"Are you going .so soon?" asked Ruez, now 
approaching them fi-om a short distance in the 
rear, where he had been playing with the hound. 
" Yes, Ruez," said the soldier, kindly. " You 
are quite recovered, I trust, from the effects of 
that cold bath taken off the parapet yonder." 
" yes, I am quite recovered now." 
" It was a high leap for one of your age." 



" It was indeed," said the boy, with a shudder 
at the reniembrunee. 

" And, U, sir, 1 luivc not thanked you for that 
gallant deed," said Isabella Gonzales, extending 
her hand incontinently to Captain Bczan, in the 
enthusiasm of the moment, influenced by the 
sincerity of her feelings, Ids noble and manly 
bearing, and the kind and touching words he had 
uttered to Ruez. 

It would be ditlicult for us to dcBcribe lier as 
she appeared at that moment in the soldier's eye. 
How lovely slic seemed to him, when dropping 
all reserve for the moment, not only her tongue, 
hut her eloquent eyes spoke from the tenderness 
of her woman's heart. A sacred vision would 
have impressed him no more than did the loveli- 
ness of her presence at that moment. 

Bending instinctively at this demonstration of 
gentle courtesy on her part, he pressed her hand 
most respectfully to his lips, and, as if feeling 
that he had gone almost too far, with a gallant 
wave of th<j hand he suddenly disappeared from 
whence he hud so lately come, over the seaward 
side of the parapet towards the army barracks. 

Isabella gazed after him with a puzzled look 
for a while, then said half to herself and in a 
pettish and vexed tone of voice : 

" I did not mean that he should kiss my hand. 
I'm sure I did not ; and why did I give it to him ? 
How thoughtless. I declare I have never met 
so monstrously impudent a person in the entire 
course of my life. Very strange. Here's Gen- 
eral Harero, Don Romonez, and Felix Gavardo, 
have been paying me court this half year and 
mo]'e, and either of them would give half his for- 
tune for a kiss of this hand, and yet neither has 
dared to even tell me that they love me, though 
I know it so well. But here is this young sol- 
dier, this new captain of infiintry, wliy he sees 
me hut half a minute before he declares himself, 
and so boldly, too ! I protest it was a real insult. 
I'll tell Don Gonzales, and I'll have the fellow 
dishonored and his commission taken from him, 
I will. I'm half ready to cry with vexation. 
Yes, I'll have Captain Bezan cashiered, and that 
directly, I will." 

"No you wont, sister," said Ruez, looking up 
cilmly into her face as he spoke. 
" Yes I will, brother." 

" Still I say no," continued the hoy, gently, 
and caressing her hand the while. 

" And why not, Ruez ?" asked Isabella, stoop- 
ing and kissing his handsome forehead, as the 
boy looked up so lovingly in her face. 

" Because he saved my life, sister," replied 
Ruez, smiling. 

" True, he did save your life, Ruez," mur- 
mured the beautiful girl, thoughtfully ; " an act 
that we can never repay ; but it was most pre- 
suming for him to enter the Plato thns, and to — 
to—" 

" Kiss your hand, sister," suggested the boy, 
smiling in a knowing way. 

" Yes, it was quite shocking for him to be so 
familiar, Ruez." 

"But, sister, I can hardly ever help kissing 
you when you look kind to me, and I am sure 
you looked very kind at Captain Bezan." 

" Did I f" half mused Isabella, biting the 
handle of her Creole fan. 

" Yes ; and how handsome this Captain Bezan 
is, sistdf," continued the boy, pretending to be 
engaged with the hound, wliom he patted while 
he looked sideways at Isabella. 

" Do you think him so handsome?" still half 
mused Isabella, in reply to her brother's remarks, 
while her eye rested upon the ground. 

" I know it," said the boy, with spirit. " Don 
Miguel, General Harero, or the lieutenant-gen- 
eral, are none of them half so good looking," he 
continued, referring to some of her suitors. 

"Well, he is handsome, brother, that's true 
enough, and brave I know, or he would never 
have leaped into the water to save your life. 
But I'll never forgive him, I'm sure of that, 
Ruez," she said, in a most decided tone of voice. 
" Yes you will, sister." 

"No, I will not, and you will vex me if you 
say so again," she added, pettishly''. 

" Come, Carlo, come," said Ruez, calling to 
the lionnd, as lie followed close upon his sister's 
footsteps towards the entrance of Don Gonzales's 
house on the Plato. 

The truth was, Isabella Gonzales, the proud 
beauty, was pleased ; perhaps her vanity was 
partly enlisted also, while she remembered the 
frankness of the humble soldier who had poured 
out his devotions at her feet in such simple yet 
earnest strains as to carry conviction with every 
word to the lady's heart. Homage, even from 
the most lowlv, is not without its charm to beau- 



1 



GLEASOX'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



19 



ty, and the proud girl mused over the late scene 
thoughtfully, ay, far more thoughtfully than she 
had ever done before, on the offer of the richest 
and proudest cavalier. 

She had never loved ; she knew not what the 
passion meant, as applied to tlie opposite sex. 
Universal homage had been her share ever since 
she could remember ; and if Isabella Gonzales 
was not a confirmed coquette, she was certainly 
very near being one. The light in which slie 
regarded the advances of Captain Bezan, even 
puzzled herself; the phase of his case and the 
manner of his avowal were so far without prece- 
dent, that its novelty engaged her. She still felt 
vexed at the young soldier's assurance, but yet 
all unconsciously found herself endeavoring to 
invent any number of excuses for the conduct he 
had exhibited ! 

"It is true, as he said," she remarked, lialf 
aloud to herself, " that it was the only way hi 
which he could meet me on terms of sufficient 
equality for conversation. Perhaps I should 
have done the same, if I were a high-spirited 
youth, and realhj loved !" 

As for Lorenzo Bezan, he quietly sought his 
quarters, as happy as a king. Had he not been 
succcssfnl beyond any reasonable hope ? Had 
he not told his love ? ay, had he not kissed the 
hand of her he loved, at last, almost by her own 
consent ? Plad not the clouds in the horizon of 
his love greatly thinned in numbers ? He was 
no moody lover. Not one to die for love, but 
to live for it rather, and to pursue the object of 
his afl^oction and regard with such untiring and 
devoted service as to deserve, if not to win, suc- 
cess. At least this was liis resolve. Now and 
then the great difference between their relative 
stations would lead him to pause and consider 
the subject ; but then with some pleasant sally 
to himself he would walk on again, firmly re- 
solved in liis own mind to overcome all things 
for her whom he loved, or at least to sti'ive to 
do so. 

This was all very well in thought, but in prac- 
tice the young soldier will not perhaps find this 
60 easy a matter. Patience and perseverance 
are excellent qualities, but they are not certain 
criteria of success. Lorenzo Bezan had aimed 
his arrow high, but it was that little blind fellow, 
Cupid, that shot the bow. He was not to blame 
for it — of course not. 

"Ha! Bezan, whence come 3'ou mtli so bright 
a face V asked a brother officer, as he entered 
his quarters in the barracks of the Plaza des 
Arines. 

" From wooing a fair and most beautiful 
maid," said the soldier, most lionestly ; though 
perhaps he told the truth as being the thing least 
likely to be believed by the other. 

"Fie, fie, Bezan. You in love, man"? A 
soldier to marry 1 By our lady, what folly ! 
Don't you remember the proverb 1 

' Men dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.' " 

" May I wake in that state with her I love ere 
a twelvemonth," said Lorenzo Bezan, smiling at 
his comrade's sally and earnestness. 

" Are you serious, captain ?" asked the other, 
now trying to half believe him. 

"Never more so in my life, I assure you," 
was the reply. 

" And who is the lady, pray ? Come, relieve 
your conscience, and confess." 

"Ah, there I am silent; hername is not for 
vulgar cars," said the young soldier, smiling, 
and with really too much respect to refer lightly 
to Isabella Gonzales. 



CHAPTER IV. 



CUBAN BANDITTI. 



It was one of those beautiful but almost op- 
pressively hot afternoons that so ripen the fruits, 
and so try the patience of the inhabitants of the 
tropics, that we would have Jhe patient reader 
follow us on the main road between Alquezar 
and Guiness. It is as level as a parlor floor, and 
the tall foliage, mostly composed of the lofty 
palm, renders the route shaded and agreeable. 
Every vegetable and plant are so peculiarly sig- 
nificant of the low latitudes, that we must pause 
for a moment to notice tliem. 

The tall, stately palm, the king of the tropical 
foro;t, with its tufted head, like a bunch of os- 
trich feathers, bending its majestic form here 
and there over the verdant and luxuriant under- 
growth, the mahogany tree, the stout Ugnumvita^, 
the banana, the fragrant and beautiful orange 
and lemon, and the long, impregnable hedge of 
the dagger albe, all go to show us that we are in 
the sunny clime of the tropics. 



The fragrance, too, of the atmosphere ! How 
soft to the senses ! This gentle zephp- that only 
rufiles the white blossoms of the lime hedges, is 
off yonder coffee plantation that lies now like a 
field of clear snow, in its fragrant milk-wliite 
blossoms ; and what a bewitching mingling of 
heliotrope and wild lioneysuckle is combined in 
tlie air ! how the gaudy plumed paiTot pauses 
on his percli beneath the branches of the plantain 
tree, to inhale the sweets of the hour ; while the 
chirps of the pedoreva and indigo birds are min- 
gled in vocal praise that fortune has cast their 
lot in so lovely a clime. 0, believe us, you 
should see and feel the belongings of this beau- 
tiful isle, to appreciate how nearly it approaches 
to your early ideas of faii-y land. 

But, alas ! how often do man's coarser dis- 
position and baser nature belie the soft and beau- 
tiful characteristics of nature about him ; how 
often, how very often, is the still, heavenly influ- 
ence that reigns in fragrant flowers and babbling 
streams, marred and desecrated by the harshness 
and violence engendered by human passions ! 

In the midst of such a scene as we have de- 
scribed, at the moment to which we refer, there 
was a fearful struggle being enacted between a 
small party of Montaros, or inland robbers, and 
tlie occupants and outridei-s of a volante, which 
had just been attacked on the road. The ti-aces 
that attached the horse to the veliicle had been 
cut, and the postilion lay senseless upon the 
ground from a sword wound in the head, while 
the four outriders were contending with thrice 
their number of robbers, who were armed with 
pistols and Toledo blades. It was a sharp hand 
to hand fight, and their steel rang to the quick 
strokes. 

In the volante was the person of a lady, but 
so closel}' enshrouded by a voluminous rebosa, 
or Spanish shawl, as hardly to leave any of 
her figure exposed, her face being hid from fright 
at the scene being enacted about her. At her 
side stood the figure of a tall, stately man, whose 
hat had been knocked off his head in the strug- 
gle, and whose white hairs gave token of his age. 
Two of the robbers, who had received the con- 
tents of his two pistols, lay dead by the side of 
the volante, and having now only his sword left, 
he stood thus, as if determined to protect her by 
his side, even at the cost of his life. 

The robbers had at last quite ovennatchedthe 
four outriders, and having bound the only one 
of them that had sufficient life left to make him 
dangerous to them, they turned theii- steps once 
more towards the volante. There were in all 
some thirteen of them, but three already lay dead 
in the road, and the other ten, who had some 
sharp wounds distributed among them, now 
standing together, seemed to be querying whether 
they should not revenge the death of their com- 
rades by killing both the occupants of the vo- 
lante, or whether they should pursue their first 
purpose of only robbing tlicm of what valuables 
they possessed. 

Fierce oaths were reiterated, and angry words 
exchanged between one and another of the rob- 
bers, as to the matter they were hastily discuss- 
ing, while the old gentleman remained finn, 
grasping the hilt of his well-tempered sword, and 
showing to his enemies, by the stern, deep resolve 
they read in his eye, that they had not yet con- 
quered him. Fortunately their pistols had all 
been discharged, or they might have shot the 
brave old man without coming to closer quar- 
ters, but now they looked with some dread upon 
the glittering blade he held so firmly ! 

That which has required some time and space 
for us to describe, was, however, the work of but 
a very few moments of time, and the robbers, 
having evidently made up their minds to take 
the lives of the two persons now in the veliicle, 
divided themselves into t^vo parties and approach- 
ed the volante at the same moment on opposite 
sides. 

" Come on, ye fiends in human shape," said 
the old man, flourishing his sword with a skill 
and strength that showed he .was no sti-anger to 
its use, and that there was danger in him. 
" Come on, ye shall find that a good blade in an 
old man's hands is no plaything !" 

They listened for a moment : yes, that half 
score of villains held back in dismay at the noble 
appearance of the old man, and the flashing fire 
of his eye. 

" Ha ! do you falter, ye villains ? do ye fear a 
good sword with right to back if?" 

But hark ! what sound is that which startles 
the Montaros in the midst of their villany, and 
makes them look into each other's faces with 
such consternation and fear ? It is a very un- 
frequented spot — who can be near 1 Scarcely 



had the sound fallen on their ears, before three 
horsemen, in undress uniform of the Spanish 
infantry, dashed up to the spot at full speed, 
while one of them, who seemed to be the leader 
of the party, leaped from his horse, and before 
the others could follow his example, was engaged 
in a desperate hand to hand conflict with the 
robbers. Twice he discharged his pistols with 
fatal effect, and now he was fighting swoi'd and 
s\^'ord witli a stout, burly Montaro, who was ap- 
proaching that side of tlie volante where the lady 
sat, still half concealed by the ample folds of her 
rebosa, though tlie approileli of assistance had 
led her to venture so far as to partially uncover 
her face, and to observe the scene about her. 

The headlong attack, so opportunely made 
by the fresh horsemen, was too much for treble 
then- number to withstand, more especially as 
the leader of them had met with such signal suc- 
cess at the outset — having shot two, and mortally 
wounded a third. In this critical state of affairs, 
the remaining banditti concluded that disci-etion 
was the better part of valor, and made the best 
of their time and remaining strength to beat a 
hasty retreat, leaving the old gentleman and his 
companion with their three deliverers, quite safe 
in the middle of the road. 

" By our lady, sir, 'twas a gallant act. There 
were ten of those rascals, and but three of you," 
said the old gentleman, stepping out of the vo- 
lante, and arranging his niffled dress. 

" Ten, senor f a soldier would make nothing 
of a score of such scapegraces as those," replied 
the officer (for such it was now apparent he was), 
as he wiped the gore from his reeking blade 
with a broad, green leaf from the roadside, and 
placed it in the scabbard. 

One of the soldiers who had accompanied the 
officer had now cut the thongs that hound the 
surviving outrider, who was one of the family 
attaches of the old gentleman, and who now 
busied himself about the vehicle, at one moment 
attending to the lady's wants, and now to harness- 
ing the horse once more. 

Removing his cap, and wiping the reeking 
perspiration from his brow, the young officer now 
approached the volante and said to the lady : 

" I trust, madame, that you have received no 
further injury by this unfortunate encounter than 
must needs occur to you from fright." 

As he spoke thus, the lady tunied quickly from 
looking towards the old gentleman, who was now 
on the other side of the vehicle, and after a mo- 
ment exclaimed : 

" Is it possible, Captain Bezan, that we are 
indebted to you for this most opportune deliver- 
ance from what seemed to be certain desti'uction ?" 
" Isabella Gonzales !" exclaimed the young 
officer, \vilh unfeigned sui"prise. 

"You did not know us, then?" she asked, 
quickly, in reply, 

" Not I, indeed, or else I sliould sooner have 
spoken to you." 

" You thus risked your life, then, for stran- 
gers ?" she continued. 

" You were the weakest party, were attacked 
by robbers ; it only required a glance to realize 
that, and to attack them and release you was the 
next most natural thing in the world," replied 
the soldier, still wiping the perspiration from his 
forehead and temples. 

" Father !" exclaimed Isabella, with undis- 
guised pleasure, " this is Captain Bezan !" 

" Captain Bezan ?" repeated the old don, as 
surprised as his daughter had been. 

"At your service," replied the soldier, bowing 
respectfully to Don Gonzales. 

" Why, sir," said the old man, "what possible 
chance could have brought you so fortunately to 
our rescue here, a dozen leagues from the city?" 
" I was returning with these two companions 
of my company from a business trip to the south 
side of the island, where wc had been sent with 
despatches from Tacon to the govenior of the 
department," 

"No, matter, what chance has brought you 
here, at all events we owe our lives to you, sir," 
said Don Gonzales, extending his hand cordi- 
ally to the young officer. 

After some necessary delay, under the peculiar 
circumstances, the liorses were finally arranged so 
as to peiTiiit of proceeding forward on the road. 
The bodies of the servants were disposed of, and 
all was ready for a start, when Isabella Gonzales 
turned to her father and pressing his ai-m said : 
" Father, how pale he looks !" 
" AVho, my child!" 

" Tliere, see how very pale !" said Isabella, 
rising up from her seat. 

" Wlio do you speak of, Isabella V 



" Captain Bezan, father ; see, there he stands 
beside his horse." 

" He does look fatigued ; he has worked hard 
with those ^^llains," said the old man. 

" Why don't he mount ? The rest have done 
so, and we arc ready," continued the old man, 
anxiously. 

At that moment one of the horsemen, better 
understanding the case than eitlier Isabella Gon- 
zales or her father, left Iiis well-trained animal in 
the road, and hastened to his officer's side. It 
required but a glance for him to sec that his cap- 
tain was too weak to moimt. 

Directing the outrider, who had now mounted 
one of the horses attached to the volante, and 
acted as postilion, to drive towards him whom 
his companion was partially supporting, Don 
Gonzales asked most anxiously ; 

" Captain Bezan, you are ill, I fear ; are you 
much hurt ?" 

" A mere trifle, Don Gonzales; drive on, sir, 
and I will follow you in a moment." 

" He is bleeding from his left arm and side, 
father," said Isabella, anxiously. 

" You are wounded — I fear severely, Captain 
Bezan," said the father. 

" A mere scratch, sir, in the arm, from one of 
the unlucky thrusts of those Montaros," he re- 
plied, assuming an indifference that his pale face 
belied. 

" Ah ! father, what can be done for him ]" 
said Isabella, quickly. 

"I am unharmed," said the grateful old man, 
"and can sit a horse all day long, if need be. 
Here, captain, take my scat in the volante, and 
Isabella, whom you have served at such heavy 
cost to yourself, shall act the nurse for you until 
we get to town again." 

Perhaps nothing, save such a proposition as 
this, could possibly have aroused and sustained 
the wounded officer ; hut after gently refusing 
for a while to rob Don Gonzales of his seat in 
the volante, he was forced to accept it even by 
the earnest request of Isabella herself, who seem- 
ed to tremble lest he was mortally wounded in 
their behalf. 

Little did Don Gonzales know, at that time, 
what a flame he was feeding in the young offi- 
cer's breast. He was too intently engaged in his 
O'mi muid with the startling scenes through wliich 
he had just passed, and was exercised with too 
much gratitude towards Captain Bezan for his 
deliverance, to observe or realize any peculiarity 
of appearance in any other respect, or to ques- 
tion the propriety of placing him so intimately 
hy the side of his lovely child. Isabella had 
never told her father, or indeed any one, of the 
circumstance of her having met Captain Bezan. 
on the Plato. But the reader, who is awai*e of 
the scene referred to, can easily imagine with 
what feelings the soldier took his seat by her 
side, and secretly watched the anxious and assid- 
uous glances that she gave his wounded arm and 
side, as well as the kind looks she bestowed upon 
his pallid face. 

" I fear I annoy you," said the soldier, realiz- 
ing his proximity to her on the seat. 

" No, no, by no means. I pray you rest your 
arm here," said Isabella Gonzales, as she offered 
her rebosa supported in part by lier o^vn person ! 
" You ai-e too kind — far too kind to me," said 
the wounded officer, faintly ; for he was now re- 
ally very weak from loss of blood and the pain 
of his wounds. 

" Speak not, I beseech of you, hut strive to 
keep your courage up till we can gain the aid of 
some experienced surgeon," she said, supporting 
him tenderly. 

Thus the party drove on towards the city, by 
easy stages, where they arrived in safety, and 
left Captain Bezan to pursue his way to his bar- 
racks, which he did, not, however, until he had, 
like a faithful courier, reported to the governor- 
general the safe result of his mission to the south 
of the island. 

The story of the gallant rescue was the theme 
of the hour for a period in Havana, but attacks 
from robbers on the road, under Tacon's gov- 
ernorship, were too common an occurrence to 
create any great wonder or curiosity among the 
inhabitants of the city. But Captain Bezan had 
got wounds that would make him remember the 
encounter for life, and now lay in a raging fever 
at his quarters in the infantry barracks of tlie 
Plaza des Armes. 

[to be continued.] 



Work for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; 
Lahor — all labor is noble and holy. 

Mj^. Osgood, 



20 



GLEASON^S PICTOllIAJ. 1) HAWING llOOM 



ANION, 



COUNT OF PARIS-I>UKE DE CIIARTRES. 

This splcndifl ciifxravinp; is taken tVoin a paiiit- 
inp executed at Loiulnn by Mr. AitVnl dc I >iriix, 
and represents two of the f^rainiehihlren of iln^ 
Into Louis Philipi)e, ex-kin^Mil' the French. The 
fipires of tliesc boys arc spirited and i;raccfnl, 
tlie horses true to tfie Hte, and the whole scene 
full of K^-ixcc, beauty and etVcct. The young 
count and duko bear historical names, and the 
eliaiHT only of a revolution cut otV the Count of 
r.'tris iVnni" the throne of l-'rance. These chil- 
dren are the only hopes of their mother, the 
Duchess of Orleans, widow of the Duko of Or- 
leans, the eldest son of Louis l*hilippc. AVlicn, 
in the sudden whirlwind of 1848, Louis Philippe 
foiiiul tlnit all was lost to himself, in the midst 
of the roar and the shouts of the combatants, that 
shook the walls of the TuillerieSj ho wrote these 
words ; " I abdicate in fa- 
vor of my R''iV»tlson , tho 
Count of Paris; I desire 
that he may be more for- 
tunate than L" After the 
flight of the king, the duch- 
ess, with lier two children, 
accompanied by the Duke 
dc Nemours, whom tlic 
kin^' had di'si-iuated as re- 
p.-nt,n'|)air<'d to the Cham- 
ber of Deputies. Lamar- 
tinc eloquently describes 
her appearance as follows : 
" Tlie large door which is 
opposite tlie tribune, on a 
level with the highest seats 
in the hall was thrown 
open. A lady appeared — 
it was the Duchess of Or- 
leaus. She was dressed 
in mourning. Her veil, 
half raised upon her Lon- 
net, allowed the eye to rest 
iipou a face impressed with 
an emotion and sadness 
which set off her youth 
and beauty. Her pale 
cheeks bore traces of a 
widow's tears, and the 
anxiety of a mother. It 
is impossible for a man to 
look upon such features 
without feeling. All re- 
sentment to the monarchy 
vanished from the heart. 
The blue eyes of the prin- 
cess wandered over the 
space, which seemed for a 
moment to dazzle them, 
as if to ask shelter from all 
eyes. A slight blush, the 
liglxt of hope in misfortune, 
and joy in mourning, ting- 
ed her checks. Her smile 
of gratitude slione through 
her tears. It was evident 
that she felt herself sur- 
rounded by friends. She 
held in her right hand the 
young king, who tottered 
on the steps, and in her left, 
her other son, the young 
Duke of Chartres, children 
whom their catastrophe 
was a show. They botli 
■wore short jackets of black 
clotli, white collars fell 
from their necks upon their 
dresses — living jjortraits 
of the children of Ciiarles 
I, step|)cd from the can- 
vass of Vandyke. Tlie 
Duke of Nemours, fiiithful 
to his brother's memory in 
his nephews, walked be- 
side the duchess, a pro- 
tector who would soon 
need protection himself. 
The countenance of this 
prince, ennobled by mis- 
fortune, expressed the 
brave but modest satisfac- 
tion of having accomplish- 
ed a duty at the peril of 
his ambition and his life. 
A few generals in uniform, 
and officers of the National 
Guard, came down in the 
■ferain of the princess. Slio 
saluted the motionless as- 
sembly with timid grace, 
and seated herself at tho 
foot of the tribune, like an 
accused but innocent per- 
6on before a tribxmal from 

which there was no appeal, who had just listened 
to the cause of royalty. At this moment this 
cause was gained in the hearts and eyes of all. 
Nature will always tiiumph over policy in an 
assembly of men moved by the three great pow- 
ers of woman over the human heart — youth, ma- 
ternity and pity. Tliis triumph, however, was 
but of brief duration. The discussion, con acted 
■with resei-ve under the presence of tlr^ i^crson so 
deeply interested in the decision, was, broken 
short, by the influx of a wave of .e revolution — 
men, hot from battle, arm d, and blood and 
powder-stained, burst into-.ne assembly. It was 
evident that royalty — •■ ,c regency' — the Count of 
Paris — the claim o, a princess of the blood — 
were words and ininps o" no meaning. Nothing 
short of the republic would satisfy the people. 
The duchess fled. She fell, with her slender 
suite and children, into the midst of a tumult of 
assailanls that deluged the outer corridors of the 
tribunes. She with difficulty escaped insult, 
suflbcatiou and death, thanks to her sex, to her 



veil, which prevented recognition, and the arms 
of a few courageous deputies. Separated by the 
undnhitions of the groups trom her two children 
and ibc Duke of Nennpurs, she ,'^ueei-edi-d, with 
lirr dcfrndeis, in tlircinllng the crowd of Insur- 
gents alone, and descending ihc staircase which 
opened in the Salle dcs Pas Perdus. The Count 
of Paris, torn by the ttnnult from his tnother, 
and pointed out to tho jjcoplc, as the future king, 
had been brutally throttled by a man of colossal 
stature. A national guardsman, who was look- 
ing for the boy, and witnessed this disgusting 
profanation, beat wp the arm of this soulless man 
by a blow vigorously dealt, tore liie young ]irinco 
away from him, and carried him, trembling and 
soiled, in the direction of his mother, who burst 
into tears as slio ombmccd him. But the mother 
missed her other child, the Httlo Duke of Char- 



A WORD FOR BARItERN. 

Horace Smith, in his " GravitieB and Gayc- 
tics " thus rpmintly discoursiis respecting the 
kniglit of the shaving-diKh. Jt is curious how a 
genius can find a theme of interest even in a 
common-place subject, and realize the truth of 
Shakspearc's apothegm, of finding "sennons in 
stones, and books in ruuinng brooks :" 

" Where, indeed, is tlie barber of any age or 
country against wdioni an imputation can lie 
justly levelled ? His is one of the fine arts which 
pre-eminently 'emollit mores, nee sunt esse 
feros.' As iron, by attrition with the magnet, 
obtains some of its power of attraction, so does 
he, by always associating with his superiors, ac- 
quire a portion of their polish and urbanity. 
Shoemakers, tailors, and other artisans of lonely 
and sedentary hfe, arc generally morose, melan- 




CHILDREN DANCING. 

I dare say my reader 1ms observed the Rcarccly 
disguised impatience with which adult votaries of 
Terpsicliorc look on at infantine dancing; per- 
haps ho has felt it himself — perhaps the writer 
has done so in his time. Yet the dancing of 
children is, in sooth, a pleasant and a pretty 
night; and I have never felt this more strongly 
than on occasions when the floor has suddenly 
been taken possession of by grown-up dancers in 
immediate succession to these little ones. Com- 
pare the perfonnance of both, and you will not 
need a better proof that grace is natural and not 
acquired ; nay more, that it may be lost by over 
ti-aining and artificiality. I was following with 
my eyes the crowd of little bright, joyous things, 
and thinking there was grace in all their move- 
ments — grace equally in the perfect dancing of 
some, and in the bounding 
disregard of art in otherH 
— in their boldness or bash- 
fulness • — dcmureness or 
riot ; — there was grace, I 
thought, in thesmall curly, 
velvct-tunickod boy of sev- 
en or eight, pulling the 
muslin skirt of a pretty 
lass of ten, with the urgent 
plea — " I .say, will you 
dance with me ? do now," 
and in the precocious co- 
quetiy of the two-tailed 
fairy as she disengaged 
herself with a pirouette 
from the hands of her too 
juvenile suitor, and flung 
from lier laughing blue 
eyes such an irresistible 
invitation toasmart,young 
middy of the Havana as 
brought him instantly to 
her side. Away they flew 
round the room in each 
other's anns and in the 
polka, that child's dance 
par excellence; and some 
chord in my memory had 
just been struck by the 
piteous spectacle of tho 
poor little mortified fellow, 
wdio, biting his finger and 
slowly shaking his wee 
round figure, at length ran 
and buried his face in the 
lap of a lady ; my atten- 
tion, I say, was thus en- 
grossed, when — pooh ! in- 
to the middle of the Lilli- 
putian throng rushed a 
human avalanche, in the 
shape of a full-groMm — a 
very full-groivn couple of 
polkists ! The cavalier, 
though not old, was fat- 
tish, and had a small round 
spot of baldness on the 
crown of his head, the lady 
an exorbitant a-enoUne. — 
The poetry of the scene 
vanished in a moment ! — 
Our Antipodes. 



THE COUNT OF PARIS AND THE DUKE DE CHAUTRES. 



ti'cs. She called to liim ■with loud cries, and 
pressed against the glasses of the garden to see 
him brought from a distance. The child had 
fallen under the tumultuous mass of people, on 
the way from the ti'ibune to the corridors. He 
came near being trampled to death, but he was 
finally placed in his mother's arms. The joy of 
such a meeting can easily be imagined. The 
fugitives shortly after left France, and the whole 
of the Orleans family found refuge at Clarcmont, 
in England, wdicre they have since resided. In 
the turns and (;hanges so common to French 
history, it cannot be certainly averred, that be- 
fore many years, the young count, whom we now 
see saluting us so gracefully from tlie saddle, 
may not come into the possession of the legacy 
of his grandfather — the throne of France. Stran- 
ger things have happened even in our own times. 
While the race is not always to the swift, nor the 
battle to the strong, the devices of political aspi- 
rants often fail, and their rapid ascent is only 
equalled by their precipitate downfall. 



choly, atrabilarious, subject to religious hypo- 
chondriacism ; but the patron of the bluff is loco- 
motive and social in his habits, buoyant, brisk, 
and hilarious in his temperament. There is not, 
perliaps, a single instance of a fanatic barber ; 
and how many traiCs are recorded of tlicir gen- 
erous forbearance. Alfieri was so nervously sen- 
sitive, that if one hair was pulled a little tighter 
than the rest, he would fly into a paroxysm of 
rage, draw his sword, and threaten to destroy the 
oficnder; yet such was his confidence, that ho 
would the next moment submit his throat to his 
razor. How calm and dignified was the reply of 
one of this class to the pimple-faced madman, 
who, with loaded pistol in liis hand, compelled 
him to take off his beard, declaring that if he cut 
him in a single place, he would instantly blow 
out his brains. After successfully accomplishing 
liis difiicult task, he was asked whether ho had 
been terrified during the operation. * No, sir,' 
replied he, 'for the moment I had drawn blood, 
I had made up my mind to cut your throat !' " 



AI»rERICAN ARTISTS. 

In Rome, there are now 
residing nine American 
sculptors — Crawford, Ives, 
Rodgers, Teny, Wilson, 
Story, Bartholomew, Ho- 
sier and Greenough, (his 
brother, not himself). The 
painters are eight in num- 
ber — Bro^vn, Hall, Chap- 
man, Freeman, Sanders, 
Innis, Terry, and Von 
Patten. In Florence, there 
arc — Powers, Hart, Gault, 
and Akers, all sculptors ; 
and the painters — Page, 
Kellogg, and Nichols. In 
the two cities there are, 
t h r e f o r e , twenty-four 
American artists. They arc 
supported chiefly by the 
chance travellers, of w^hom 
the majority are English. 
" I venture to assert," says 
the correspondent of the 
Washington Intelligencer, 
" that where one dollar is 
.«pent by Americans, in 
Europe, upon English ar- 
tists, the English spend 
five hundred pounds upon 
our artists, and I only 
wish that our wealthy men, of New York and 
Boston, would devote more attention to the in- 
terests of American art, instead of wasting money 
in buying up trash, and encouraging imposition." 
The foreign commissions keep some of our artists 
well and profitably employed. Ives is just fin- 
ishing a beautiful female figure, representing 
Spring — a girl seated on a bank of grass and 
flowers, decorating her hair. He has completed 
his Pandora — a full length figure, undressed — 
holding in her left hand the fatal box. A bust 
of General Scott is among his recent works, and 
one of Mr. H. T. Tuckerman. Mr. Rodgers, of 
New York, has cast his statue of Ruth, and 
moulded several smaller works, among wliich, a 
Cupid breaking his bow, is mentioned wiih 
praise. Mosier is fast completing a statue of 
Pocahontas, and Crawford has put the last 
touches to his Jefferson and Patrick Henry. 
Crawford has recently executed a beautiful and 
exquisite little group, " tho Babes in tho Wood." 
— Home JournaL 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



21 



TtEE DUKE OF BRABAIVT AIVD THE COUNT 
OF FiaJVDERS. 

Of die two boys, who make such a brilliant 
fig'iu-e in the accompanj-ing engraving, nothing 
has yet been recoi'dcd ; indeed, they are too 
young to have obtained personal celebrity, which 
may perhaps be reserved for them in after years. 
They are sons of the king of Belgium. They 
bear no distinguishing stamp of royalty, but 
have only the gay and lively air of a couple of 
gentlemen's sons, released from the thi-aldora of 
books and schooling for a day perhaps, and go- 
ing out to take a morning's ride. The scene 
presented is a park belonging to their father, and 
the building in the distance is the royal residence 
of Laken. The spirit and action of the horses, 
the graceful etFect of light and shade, and the 
elegant minuteness of tliis engraving ai'C much 
to be admired. It pos- 
sesses a tineness and deli- 
cacy wliich render it very 
eftcctivc as a work of art, 
while its tnithfulness com- 
mends it to especial notice. 



A GAME COCR. 

On the memorable first of June (Lord Kowe's 
victory) Captain Berkley conimanded the Marl- 
borough, and broke thi'ough the French line be- 
tween LTmpetuous and Le Mucins, eacli of su- 
perior force, and engaged them both. On going 
into action the captain ordered all the live stock 
to be thro^\^^ overboard, but at the humble re- 
quest of his crew permitted them to retain an old 
game cock, with which they (the crew) had 
fought several times, and always with success. 
In the action the Marlborough was so severely 
handled by her opponents that half the crew were 
disabled, her captain carried wounded below, her 
mainmast shot away, and the remainder of the 
men driven from their quarters. At the very 
juncture when the Marlborough was on the ])oint 
of striking, there chanced one of those lulls in 



THE OLD IVHALER. 

My second messmate was an old whaling skip- 
per, witli two very young grand-cbilcb'en — little 
fatherless, motherless, helpless creatures, a boy 
and a gn-1, who clung together all day, and at 
night slept in each other's arms ; and wdio could 
not bear to be for a moment out of sight of the 
old sailor, their grandfather. Looking from my 
berth of a morning through the Venetians, I felt 
the moisture rise in my eyes as I watched the bald 
and gray veteran taking his little proterjees one by 
one from their common crib, carefully washing 
and dressing them, combmg their flaxen locks, 
and then folding away their bedding. During 
the day he would feed and tend them, and carve 
toys for them with liis pocket knife. And at 
night, after undressing his " little people," as he 
called them, he " coiled away and stowed " then- 



CHlIiDHOOD. 

I can endure a melan- 
choly man, but not a mel- 
ancholy child. The for- 
mer, in whatever slough 
he may sink, can raise his 
eyes either to the kingdom 
of reason or of hope : but 
the little child is entirely 
weighed doA\'n by one 
black poison-drop of the 
present. Think of a child 
led to the scaffold, thiidc 
of Cupid in a Dutch cof- 
fin ; or watch a buttei-fly 
after its four wings have 
been torn off, creeping 
like a worm, and you will 
feci what I mean. But 
wherefore ? The first has 
been already given. The 
child, like the beast, only 
knows purest, though 
shortest sorrow ; one which 
has no past and no futm-e ; 
one such as the sick man 
receives from T\ithout, the 
di-camer from himself in 
his asthenic brain — finally, 
one with the consciousness 
not of guilt but of inno- 
cence. Cei'tainly, all the 
soiTows of children are 
but shortest nights, as 
their joys are but hottest 
days ; and, indeed, both 
so much so, that in the 
latter, often clouded and 
starless time of life, the 
matured man only long- 
ingly remembers his old 
childhood's pleasm-e, while 
he seems altogether to 
have forgotten his child- 
hood's grief. This weak 
remembrance is strangely 
conti'asted with the oppos- 
ing one in dreams and fe- 
vers in this i-espect, that 
in the t^vo last it is always 
the cruel sorrows of child- 
hood wOiich retm-n ; the 
dream, this mock-sun of 
childhood, and the fever, 
its distorting glass — both 
draw forth from dark cor- 
ners the feai-s of defence- 
less childhood, which press 
and cut with iron fangs 
into the prostrate soul. 
The fan- scenes of dreams 
mostly play on an after- 
stage, whereas the fright- 
ful ones choose for theu-s 
the cradle and the nursery. 
Moreover, in fevei-, the 
ice-Iiands of the fear ot 
ghosts, the striking one of 
the teachers and parents, 
and every claw with which 
fate has pressed the young 
heart, stretch themselves 
out to catch the w.ander- 
ing man. Parents, consid- 
er then, that every child- 
hood's Rupeit — the name 
given iu Germany to the 
fictitious being employed 
to frighten children into 

obedience — even though it has lain chained for 
tens of years, yet gets loose and gains mastery 
over the man so soon as he finds him on a sick 
bed. The first fright is more dangerous the 
sooner it happens ; as the man grows older, he is 
less and less easily frightened ; the little cradle 
or bed-canop}'' of the child is more easily quite 
darkened than the starry heavens of the man. 
— Jean Paul Rickter. 




THE ARITHMETIC OF WAR. 

It is very difficult to credit or adequately con- 
ceive, even, the well attested statistics of war. 
AVhcn sucli a philosopher as Dick, or such a 
statesman as Burke, brings before us his esti- 
mate of the havoc which this custom has made 
of human life in all past time, it seems utterly 
incredible — almost inconceivable; and still more 
are we staggered by the formidable array of iig- 
m-cs employed to denote the sum total of money, 
squandered on human bntcheiy. Baron Von 
Kedcn, perhaps the ablest statician of the age — 
tells us in a recent work of his, that the conti- 
nent of Europe alone now has full four millions 
of men under anus — more than half its popula- 
tion — between the ages of twenty and thirty ; 
and that the support of this immense preparation 
of war, together with the interest and cost of col- 
lection and disbursement 
on the aggregate of its 
war debts, amount to more 
than one thousand mil- 
lions a year. Let any man 
ti-y to fonn an adequate 
conception of what is 
meant by either of these 
sums, and he will give up 
the effort in despair. The 
Baron estimates the war 
debts now resting on the 
States of Europe, at about 
$7,418,000,000; how shall 
we estimate what this 
enoiTnons sum means ? 
Sliall we count ? At the 
rate of sixty dollars a min- 
ute, ten hours every day, 
for three hundred days in 
a year, it would take niore 
than eight hundred years 
to count the present war 
debt of Europe alone. 
Let us look for a moment 
at what England wasted 
for war from the revolu- 
tion in 1688, to the down- 
fall of Napoleon in 1815. 
The sum total, besides all 
that she spent upon her 
war system in the inter- 
vals of peace, was about 
§10,150,000,000; and if 
we add the interest on 
her war debts conti-acted 
in that period, the grand 
total will reach nearly 
SI 7,000,000,000 ! At six- 
ty dollars a minute, for 
ten iiom-s in a day, or 
tliirty-six thousand dollars 
a day, and tliree hundred 
days in a year, it would 
require more than one 
thousand five hundred and 
seventy-five years to count 
it all. Add an average of 
$60,000,000 a yeai- for the 
current expenses of her 
war establishment since 
1815, an aggregate of 
$2,800,000,000 ill these 
thirty-five years, and we 
have a sum total of nearly 
tti'enty thousand mUh'o'is I 
No wonder the Old World 
is reeling and staggering 
under the burden of such 
an enormous expcnditm-e 
for war purjMses. Twen- 
ty thousand millions of 
dollars ! It is nearly thir- 
ty times as much as all 
the coin now supposed to 
be in the world ; and if 
these twenty thousand mil- 
lions were all in silver 
dollars and placed in 
rows, it would belt the 
globe more than one hun- 
dred and sixty times. — 
JBoston Daily Advei'tiser. 



THE DUKE OF BRABANT AND THE COUNT OF FLANDERS. 



HANDS THE SIGN OF RACE. 

There are some men who cultivate white 
hands with long fair nails. For nothing else do 
they care very particularly — all Is well^ if only 
their hands be neat. There is even a ridiculous 
notion, that elegant hands are the most unequiv- 
ocal test of what is called good birth. I can say, 
for my own part, that the finest hands I ever saw 
belonged to a woman who kept a butcher's shop 
in Musselburg. So much for the nonsense about 
fine hands. — Oiambers' Pocket Miscdlani/. 



the roar of the thundering cannon often experi- 
enced in general action. In that momentary si- 
lence, when the falling of a rope might be heard, 
the old game cock, who bad escaped the human 
carnage, hopped up upon the shattered stump of 
the mainmast, and, with a loud and tiiumphant 
flapping of his wings, sent forth such a long and 
lusty challenge as to be heard in every part of 
the disabled ship. No individual spoke in reply 
to the homely but touching alamm ; one univer- 
sal and gallant cheer from the broken crew 
ai"ose ; they remembered the indomitable courage 
of the bud that sat undismayed above the bleed- 
ing hoiTors of the deck, and every soul on board 
who could drag their limbs to quarters, re-man- 
ned the guns, resumed the action, and forced 
their opponents to sun'ender. A silver medal 
was sti'uek by order of Admiral Berkley ; it was 
hung upon the neck of the old g,ame cock, who, 
in the parks and around the princely halls of the 
Goodwood, passed the remainder of his downy 
days in honored safety. — British Naval History. 



day gear, and put on tlieir night clothes — his 
great rough hands fumbling the small tapes into 
all sorts of nautical knots, which cost him a 
world of troid)le to undo in the morning. Then 
he placed them in their bed — side by side gen- 
erally, but sometimes with their heads different 
ways — and, having "shipped" the panel to pre- 
vent them from falling out, he would sing them 
to sleep with a hoarse lullaby, of which the words 
"Yo! heave ho!" and " TV^iack Old England's 
foe," fonned the burthen. Then he listened to 
their light breathing, and, assured that they 
slumbered, dropped his furrowed brow on the 
bed-panel for a time, as though he blessed and 
])rayed for them, and, posting himself on a bench 
below, he opened an old chest, and, taking out a 
well-worn book and putting on his glasses, he 
read therein sometimes for half the night, so 
absorbed in its contents as almost to be wholly 
unconscious of every other object or event tran- 
spiring around him. — Our Antipodes, by Colonel 
Mandy. 



A TOUGH YARN. 

A gentleman trolling 
lately in the Gareloeh for 
trout hooked what he 
imagined at first to be a 
salmon, from its vigorous 
run, but by degi'ces be- 
came convinced that he 
had caught a Tartar of 
some species unknown. 
After a furious contest of 
nearly tivo hours he suc- 
ceeded in bringing the captive, now sullen and 
exhausted, to the side of the boat, and tackled 
him the first opportunity. What was the aston- 
ishment of the angler and boatman, however, to 
discover that the monster was a fish of the shark 
species, common in wai-m latitudes, though a 
stranger here. It was hooked on the exterior 
of the jaw, otherwise his formidable teeth would 
have made short work with the tackle. After 
capture it made a fearful straggle in the boat, 
and was with difficulty subdued and secured. 
It was a female, and measured four feet seven 
inches in length. Immediately upon its capture 
six young ones launched themselves from the 
parent into the boat. This is the second instance 
we have heard of the capture of a shark in tliis 
neighborhood. — Dumbarton Herald. 



How singular it is that everybody is out of 
money at the same time. Who^ ever nndertook 
to borrow ten dollars without finding all his ac 
quaintances had " a little note to take up V 



I 



22 



CxLEASON'S riCTOrJAL DUAWIXG HOOM f'O^IPANION. 



[Wrlltun for fJlcnson's Pictorial.] 
OUR SHIP. 

Lightly, gaily, nimbly, Htiitoly, 
Swiftly iiH II IjoundlnR fawn ; 

Gontly, tonclorly, Hcdatoly, 
GnK'f'fully ns ii white Bwan 

Comes our bnrk, whoro only lately 
All wiiB trantnill ne the dawn. 

Now II mnmnir risrs slowly 
In our vcHfcI'B lonely track ; 

To the akicH ho heavenly, lioly, 
From the dcdpn bo grim and black ; 

And the imKi'lf", Rentle, lowly, 
Send It sluiddei-ing, wondering hack. 

I am ga/.iiig, full of wonder, 

At the gloviouH myetcrj', 
How our ship can renii asunder 

Whvch that riKe so fearfully. 
And not go forever under, 

To the Lctbo in the eea. 

When the storm ia at its highcat. 
And tUo waves roll fiendishly. 

And tlio weird winds where thou flicst, 
Scorn to snatch thee from the sea ; 

Then! ah, then! my bouI is Highest 
A wild heaven of ecstasy ! 



[Written for Glcason's Pictorial.] 

THE TWO CARPENTERS: 



PASTIME REAL AND UNKEAL. 



A SKETCH FOR MECHANICS. 



BY SYLVANUS COBB, JK. 

Charles Bracket and Ludlow Weston were 
apprentices to a carpenter by the name of Jonas 
"White. They were nearly of the same age — about 
nineteen, and they were both of tliem of remark- 
ably good disposition, and, withal, very punctual 
at their work. Mr. White was a kind, indulgent 
man, and his woikmen had no occasion to com- 
plain of his requirements. 

" Charley," said Ludlow Weston, one evening 
after they had closed their labors upon a house 
that iVIi". White was erecting, "lot us have a ride 
this evening." 

" No," returned Charles Bracket, as he re- 
moved his apron. The answer was short, but 
yet it was kindly spoken. 

"Come, do," m-ged Ludlow. "It will be a 
beautiful evening, and we can have a first rate 
time. Wont you go 1" 
" I cannot, Lud." 
"But why?" 

" Because I am otherwise engaged, and beside, 
I haven't the money to spare." 

" Never mind the engagement, but come along, 
and I will pay the expenses." 

"If I ever join with a companion in any pas- 
time that involves pecuniary expense, I sliall al- 
ways pay my share ; but this evening, Lud, I 
have an engagement with myself." 
" And what can it be, Charley V 
" I borrowed a book of Mr. White, a few days 
since, and as I promised to return it as soon as 
I finished it, I desire to do so as soon as possi- 
ble, so I must devote this evening to reading." 

" And what is the subject, pray V asked 
Ludlow. 

" The History of Architecture," returned 
Charles Bracket. 

" 0, bah ! Such dry stuff as that !" 
"It's not dry, I assure you, Lud." 
" It may not be to you, but it is to me. What, 
poring over architecture all night, after working 
hard at it all day V 

"Yes," returned Charles; "because I am thus 
enabled to Icam more of the different branches 
of our business." 

" Well," said Ludlow, with a slight toss of tlie 
head, " for my part I learn full as much about 
the carpenter's trade at my work as I shall ever 
find use for. I don't see the use, after a poor 
fellow has been tied up to mortices, grooves, 
sills, rafters, sleepers, and such matters, all day 
long, to drag away the night in studying the 
stuff all over again." 

"Ah, Lud," replied Charles Bracket, "you 
don't take the right view of the matter. Evci-y 
man makes himself honorable in a peculiar busi- 
ne.ss, just so far as he understands that business 
thoroughly, and a])plies liimself to its perfection. 
It is not the calling or trade that makes the man, 
but it's the honest enterprise with which that 
calling is followed. In looking about for a busi- 
ness that should give me a support through life, 
1 hit upon and chose the one in which we are 
now both engaged, and when I did so, I resolved 
that I would make myiiielf uscfid in it. Wc 
have something Ijcsidcs mere physical strength 



to employ and cultivate: we hiivo a mind that 
must labor, and that mind will labor at some- 
thing. Now, phyHical labor alpuo Is tedious and 
unthankful ; but when wc combine the mental 
and physical, and nmkc them assist each otlier, 
then wc Hud labor ii source of comfort." 

" Really, Charley, ytni arc (juite a philosopher, 
and I sup|)ose what you say is true; but then I 
should like to know if it don't require some men- 
tal hilior to keep up with the instructions of our 
boss now ? I declare, it keeps me thinking pretty 
sharply." 

" That may be," said Charles ; " hut after all, 
the only mental labor you perform is memory. 
Yon only remember Mr. White's instructions, 
and then follow them, and in so doing, you learn 
nothing but the mere method of doing the work 
you are engaged on. For instance, you know 
how long to make the rafters of the house wc are 
now building, and you know liow to let them in- 
to the plates ; but do you know the pliilosophical 
reason for all this '? Do you know why you arc 
required to perform your work after given 
rules V* 

"I know that I am to do it, and that wlien I 
am of age, I shall be paid for doing it, and I 
know how to do it. That is enough," answered 
Ludlow, witii much emphasis. 

" It is not enough for me," said Ciuirles. 
"Every piece of mechanism has a science in its 
composition, and I would be able to comprehend 
that science so as to apply it, perhaps, to other 
uses. In short, Lud, I would be master of my 
business." 

"And so would I. I tell you, Charley, I be- 
lieve I could frame a house now." 

" Such an one as you have been taught to 
build, Lud." 

" Certainly. EveryI)ody must be taught at 
first." 

" True ; and everybody may gain im]nove- 
ment upon the instructions of others by self- 
culture." 

" Then you wont go to ride this evening?" 
said Ludlow, as they reached their boarding- 
house. 

"No." 

Here the conversation ended. That evening 
Ludlow Weston hired a horse and chaise, and 
went to ride; while Charles Bracket betook him- 
self to his room, and was soon deeply interested 
in his History of Architectui'e. Some parts he 
would read over several times so as to tliorough- 
ly comprehend them, and occasionally he would 
take notes, and copy some of the drawings. Be- 
fore he retired to his rest, he had finished the 
book ; and when lie arose the next morning, the 
subject of his study was fresh and vivid in his 
mind, and lie felt happy and satisfied with him- 
self. 

"Ah, Charley, I had a glorious time last 
night," said Ludlow Weston, with a heavy yawn, 
as the two apprentices met before breakfast. 

" So did I," returned Charles. 

" At your dry books, eh ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, I don't envy you. Egad, Charley, the 
recollections of last night's ride and supper will 
give me enjoyment for a moutli." 

" And the recollections of my last night's study 
may benefit nic for a lifetime." 

" Bah !" said Ludlow. But the very manner 
in which he uttered it showed that he did not ex- 
actly mean it. 

A mouth had passed away, and it was Satur- 
day morning. 

" Charley," said Ludlow Weston, " we have 
not got to work this afternoon. Now, Avhat do 
you say to joining the party on the pond ? We 
have got the boats engaged, and wc are going to 
have a capital time. I'm going to carry Sophia, 
and you must take Mary, and go with us." 

"I am sorry that I must disappoint you, Lud; 
but the old professor at the academy, as he has 
no school this afternoon, has promised to give 
mc some assistance in my studies in mensuration, 
and it would be a disappointment both to him 
and myself to miss the opportunity." 

" O, bother your mensuration ! Come along. 
Mary Waters will tliink you are really mean, for 
Sophy Cross will be sure to tell her what a fine 
time she had with me." 

"No, Mary ivont," returaed Charles. "Af- 
ter I have fini.slicd my lesson, I am going to take 
a horse and chaise, and carry her out to visit her 
sick aunt, whci"C we shall spend the Sabbath. 
However, I hope you will have a good time, and 
I believe you will, too." 

Mary Waters and Sophia Cross were botli of 
them good girls, and they really loved the youths, 
whose attentions they were respectively receiving. 



Charles and Ludlow had aln-aily taikcrl of mar- 
riage, and they looked fonvard to that important 
event witli much [jromisc of joy, and all wlio 
knew them bad reason lo believe that tlu^y would 
both make good husbands. 

Thus time glided away. Both of the young 
men laid up some money, and they were both 
steady at their work, but Charles pursued his 
studies witli unrcmittingdiligcncc, while Ludlow 
could never see any use in a mere carpenter's 
bothering bis brain with gcomcti-ical properties, 
areas of figures, volumes of solids, mathematical 
roots and powers, trigonometry, and a thousand 
other things that his companion spent so much 
time over. 

Two years were soon swallowed ujj in the vor- 
tex of time, and Charles and Ludlow were free. 
They both were hired by their old master, and 
for several months they worked on in the to^vn 
where Mr. White resided. Ludlow Weston was 
married to Sophia Cross, and they lioarded with 
the bride's mother. 

" Aint you ever going to get married ?" asked 
Ludlow, as he and Cliarles were at work together. 

"As soon as I can get a house to put a wife 
into," quietly returned Charles. 

" Why; you can hire one at any time." 

" I know that ; but I wish to own one." 

" Tlien poor Mary Waters will have to wait a 
long time for a husband, I'm thinking." 

"Perhaps so," Charles said, with a smile. 

Then Ludlow whistled a tune as he continued 
his work. 

"Boys," said Mr. White, as he came into his 
shop one morning, where Charles and Ludlow 
were at work, " we are soon likely to have a job 

in S . The new State House is going up as 

soon as the committee can procure a suitable 
plan, and I shall have an opportunity to contract 
for a good share of the carpenter's work." 

" Good ! AVe shall have a change of air," 
said Ludlow, in a meny mood. 

That evening Charles took his paper from the 
post-ofiice, and in it he found an advertisement 
calling for an architectural plan for the new 
State House. He went home, locked himself up 
in his room, and devoted half the night to in- 
tense thought and study. The next day he pro- 
cured a large sheet of fine drawing paper, and 
after supper he again betook himself to his room, 
where he drew out his table, spread his paper, 
and then taking his ease of mathematical instru- 
ments, he set himself about his task. For a 
whole week he worked every niglit till twelve or 
one o'clock, and at the end of that time, his job 
was finished. He rolled his sheet of paper care- 
fully up in a substantial wrapper, and having 
directed it to the committee, he entrusted it to 
the care of the stage-driver, to be delivered at its 
destination in the city of S . 

Nearly three weeks rolled away, and Charles 
began to fear that his labors had been useless. 
It was just after dinner. Mr. White and his 
men had commenced work, when four gentlemen 
entered the shop, whose very appearance at once 
bespoke them to be men of the highest standing 
in society. 

" Is there a Mr. Charles Bracket here ?" asked 
one of them. 

" That is the man, sir," retumed Mr. White, 
pointing to where Charles, in his checked apron 
and paper cap, was at work. 

The stranger seemed a little surprised as he 
turned his eyes upon the youth, and a shade of 
doubt dwelt upon his features. 

" Is your name Bracket, sir ?" he asked, as he 
went np to where the young man stood. 

"It is, sir," replied Charles, trembling with 
strong excitement. 

"Did you draw this plan?" continued the 
sti'angcr, opening a roll he held in his hand. 

" I did, sir," answered Charles, as he at once 
recognized his work. 

" Did you originate it?" 

"Every part of it, sir." 

The stranger eyed the young carpenter with a 
wondering look, and so did the gentlemen who 
accompanied him. Mr. Wliitc and Ludlow 
Weston wondered what it all meant. 

"Well, sir," at length said he who held the 
plan, "I am pot a little surprised that one like 
you should have designed and drawn this ; but, 
nevertheless, you are a lucky man. Your plan 
has been accepted in every feature, and your re- 
commendations have all been adopted." 

The effect of this announcement upon Charles 
Bracket was like an electric shock. Objects 
seemed to swim before bis eyes, and be grasped 
the edge of his bench for support. 

" Gentlemen," said Mr. White, " I do not un- 
derstand tliis. What floes it all mean ?" 



"It means, sir, that this young man has de- 
signed a complete and perfect nrchiteclural plan 
for the new State House, and that it luis been 
unanimously adopted by the committee from 
among fifty otiicrs which they have received from 
different parts of the country." 

" Charles," uttered tlie old cari)cntei-, wiping 
a pride-ficnt tear from his cheek as he gazed upon 
his former apprentice, "when did you do this V 

" Three weeks ago, sir." 

"And that's what kept you up so late every 
night for a wliole week ?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" There's a powerful genius there, sir," said 
the spokesman of the visitors. 

"Ay," retumed Mr. White; "and there has 
been deep and powerful application there, too. 
Charles Bracket has been with me from a boy, 
sir, and every moment of bis leisure time has 
been devoted to the most intense study." 

The gentleman looked kindly, flatteringly upon 
the young man, and then turning to Mr. White, 
he said : 

" He has not only given us the design, but, as 
you can see, he has calculated to a nicety the 
number of bricks, the surface of stone, the quan- 
tity- of lumber, the weight, length, size and fonn 
of the required iron, as well as the quantity of 
other materials, and the cost of construction. It 
is a valuable document." 

Ludlow Weston was dumb. He hung down 
his head, and thought of the contempt he had 
cast upon his companion's studies. 

"Mr. Bracket," continued the visitor, "I am 
authorized by the State committee to pay you 
one thousand dollars for this design, and also to 
offer you ten dollars per day so long as the build- 
ing is in course of construction, for your services 
as superintending architect. The first named 
sum I will pay you now, and before I leave, I 
would like to have from you an answer to the 
committee's proposition." 

Before the delegation returned to S , 

Charles had received his thousand dollars cash, 
and accepted the offer for superintending the 
erection of the State House. 

"Ah, Charles," said Ludlow Weston, after 
they had finished their supper, " you have indeed 
chosen the wisest part. I had no thought that a 
eaiijenter could be such a man." 

" And why not a carpenter as well as any one ? 
It only requires study and application." 

" But all men are not like you." 

"Because all men don't try. Let a man set 
his eyes upon an honorable point, and then fol- 
low it steadily, unwaveringly, and he will he 
sure to reach it. All men may not occupy the 
same spliere, and it would not be well that they 
should ; but there are few who may not reach to 
a degree of honorable eminence in any trade or 
profession, no matter how humble it may be." 

" I believe you are right, Charles ; but it is too 
late for me to try now. I shall never be any- 
thing but a journeyman." 

"I will own, Ludlow, that you have wasted 
the best part of your life for study ; but there is 
yet time and opportunity for retrievement." 

Ludlow did try, and he studied, and he im- 
proved much, but he was unable to recall the 
time he had wasted. He had now a family upon 
his care, and as he had to depend altogether upon 
his hands for support, he could not work much 
with his mind. 

Charles Bracket saw tlie building he had 
planned entirely finished, and he received the 
highest encomiums of praise from the chief offi- 
cers of the State. Business flowed in upon him, 
and ere many years. Bracket, the architect, was 
known throughout the Union. When he led 
Mary Waters to the hymeneal altar, he did own 
one of the prettiest houses in his native town ; 
nor did " poor Mary " have to wait long, either. 

There is a deep moral in the foregoing for our 
young mechanical readers, and we have no doubt 
they have, ere this, discovered it. 



[Written for Gleason'e Pictorial.] 
O BREATHE OKE WISH TOR 3IE. 

Br AIRS. R. T. £I.D.'.£DGE. 

I do not ask thee, friend, to think of me, 
When mingling with the young, and gay, and fair ; 

In fiiHhion'H circles drown thy thoughts in glee, 
give me not a passing thought while there ! 

But think of mc, my loved and early friend, 
Should thy young heai-t, subdued by grief or care, 

E't-r cause tbco, daily, on thy knee to bend, 
bruiitho a wish for mo in every ijrayer I 



Adversity is apt to discover the genius, pros- 
perity to conceal it. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



23 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
ON LEAVING H.UITFORD. 



Old Hartford '. dear and sacred spot, 
Home of my fiither's childhood days ; 

Scenes which can never be forgot, 
Shall form the subject of my lays ; 

Hartford I I prize thy ancient name, 

may'st thou Uve in deathless fiune. 

Here, first the light of mortal life 
Illumed my parents' mental sky ; 

Here, too, hegan with them the strife, 
"WTiich ends when in the grave they lie '■, 

And here they learned that cares were given, 

As guides which lead the soul to heaven. 

1 lore thee, Hartford, for thy worth, 
And honor thee for years that 's gone ; 

No other spot, on this broad earth, 

More brightly beams the sun upon. 
Thy mansions seem a blest retreat. 
Where sage Content has fixed her seat. 

should the two-edged sword of death 

Spare nie to see a ripened age ; 
Down to the latest hour of breath. 

Thy name my thoughts shall then engage ; 
And e'en when dying I will pray, 
That thou may'st never meet decay. 

Hartford ! farewell I I now depart, 

And parting, I on thee bestow 
This earnest tribute of my heart, 

This fervent blessing, and I go j 
On thee, Hartford, rest, increase, 
The smiles of hope, of joy, and peace 

[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

THE FOUR ACRE LOT. 

BV MKS. E. WELLMONT. 

*' Nobody to write a letter !" exclaimed Mrs. 
Blimi. "I wonder if this is the way all board- 
ing-school education turns out. There's my 
daughter Sophy, who has been three quarters to 
the academy, and here she cannot draft a letter 
for me on particular business. If it were not 
pextaiuing to family matters, I would carry it to 
'Squire Story, or Mrs. Bragg; but they are both 
leaky sources, and one hates to have all their 
private busiiicss in everybody's mouth. Sophy, 
dear," said the mother, " don't you think you 
can tell your aunt what I bid you say? It's no 
matter if it aint all grammar." 

" But, mother, I never did such a thing in my 
life, as to write a long letter. To be sure, I 
have written short notes to Amy Fry, but they 
were nothing." 

And the poor girl took up her " French Tele- 
machus," and, with the aid of the dictionary, 
began to interpret the meaning of the next sen- 
tence ; then she had an exercise to \vTite, a his- 
tory lesson to commit, a page in rhetoric to re- 
peat, and her grammar to review. But all thest 
were in the ordinary course — to write a letter 
was quite a different affair. 

Mrs. Blinn was greatly troubled to get the let- 
ter written without giving notoriety to its con- 
tents. To be sure, she had a piece of business 
which she wished executed without her hus- 
band's knowledge ; and as this is always a haz- 
ardous business, she was greatly troubled to get 
it executed. She thought of the secretary of the 
sewing-circle ; but she boarded with the la^vyer's 
wife, and ten chances to one, some bird of the 
air would carry the news that she was about to 
deed away the " four acre lot," which descended 
to her by her mother's death. But, then, as it 
was her own, and her husband had been bene- 
fited by it for years, she saw no reason why she 
should not dispose of it and raise some ready 
money, which would help her to a heap of use- 
ful things, which her ambitious spirit had con- 
jured up into essentials. And they had so preyed 
on her mind that, having an offer to sell out to 
Farmer Eenton at the rate of one hundred dol- 
lars per acre, the bargain was all privately con- 
cluded, pi"ovided her sister's husband would 
make out the deed — and it could be clandestinely 
managed until it was too late for lier husband to 
help himself. But who ever knew such a scheme 
to work well ? 

Farmer Renton seemed particularly anxious 
to have the affair consummated, and he suggest- 
ed to Mrs. Blinn, that his son, the clerk in a 
neighboi'ing gi-oceiy, would be at home that 
evening, and under pretence of some eiTand, she 
could drop in and the whole matter could be 
arranged. 

Mrs. Blinn, thinking only of the four Imndred 
dollars, acceded to the proposal. All the con- 
fusion at the farm-house was that evening early 
subsided. Mr. Blinn was tired, and soon found 



himself in a comfortable sleep in his arm-chair ; 
and Miss Sophy was muttering over the conju- 
gation of some French verbs which, like drop- 
ping rain, rather composed her father the more 
on account of its monotony. 

Mrs. Blinn was absent short of an hour ; yet 
in that space of time, the terms upon which she 
agreed to sell out were drawn up and signed by 
a rude attempt at writing, which could, however, 
be deciphered as Mari/ Blinn. The letter was 
forwarded to her sister's husband, who was a 
justice of the peace ; and Mrs. BUun that night 
dreiimed only of a new Kjdderminster cai-pet, 
with a large running vine through the ccnti'e, a 
mahogany-framed looking-glass, and some fancy 
chairs — all of which would cause the villagers to 
stare, as she should have the next sewing-circle 
appointed at her liouse. Farmer Renton, in the 
meantime, was equally solicitous to obtain the 
lot, as he had an assurance that the land would 
soon quadruple in value ; as it would become 
available for building lots by the manufacturing 
company, who had secretly determined on erect- 
ing large factories upon the stream, just within 
sight of the aforesaid land. So he knew, when 
he counted out the hard dollars from the till of 
his old blue chest, which had been deposited 
more than twenty years ago, lest banks should 
fail, and turnpikes become wortliless, and there 
should be a famine ; and in such a case, this was 
emergencv money, which always made him feel 
happier than any extra interest, where he could 
not put his hand any moment on the investment. 
But judge of the chagrin of both parties, when 
the following answer arrived to the letter of yes- 
terday. It ran thus : 

" Mrs. Blinn is not probably aware that to 
make the instrument legal, it is necessary to ob- 
tain her husband's signature added to her own. 
This is the law in our State ; and although he 
cannot convey the same without her sanction, 
yet it is equally imperative on her part to do the 
same. Yours, etc., ." 

There never was a greater drawback to all 
well-matured plans. The poor woman's hopes 
were so crushed, and Farmer Renton 's schemes 
so ten-ibly disappointed ; and yet more than all, 
and worse than all, that young man had let out 
the secret of his father's expected speculation, 
and some gossipping neighbor had rallied Mr. 
Blinn upon his want of foresight, which was 
strange music to his cars. For the first time 
during their conjugal life of more than thirty 
years* standing, this was the first breach of con- 
fidence that had risen between their mutual in- 
terests, and the consequences led to a painful 
result. 

Mrs. Blinn determined it should be lier last 
effort at concealment ; and as the law interposed 
between the disastrous effects which might have 
followed upon the execution of their plans, it is 
to be hoped it did not forever after mar their 
domestic confidence ; hut it should be a salutary 
lesson to all wives who undertake to manage 
clandestinely with any business, supposing there 
is no binding obligation between the interests of 
man and wife. 

Then, too, a thousand little events are thus 
exposed, which might never have been made 
public. Mi"s. Blinn, upon settling the next 
quarter's bill for her daughter, inquu'cd of her 
teacher, if his pupils were not taught the epis- 
tolary style of writing f This same young lady 
was quoted as quite an adept in such matters, 
and upon investigation, it was found that all her 
compositions were the efforts of a friend, who 
was paid for thus helping out a species of decep- 
tion which materially affected Sophy's good 
scholarship, and in after life would he a source 
of deep regret. 

But Mrs. Blinn's mortification ended with the 
reconciliation of her husband ; and her " four 
acre lot " has been disposed of on much more 
advantageous terms, and she is in possession of 
all the furniture she so coveted, and more than 
double the amount is already invested as the 
product of her husband's sagacity in knowing 
how to drive a good bargain. 



THE LESSON OF TRAVEL. 

Toleration is the great lesson of travel. As, 
in a small way, a man may mortify spiritual 
l)ride, by strolling on Sunday in a western city 
from church to church, each of which is regarded 
by its sect as the ti-ue straight gate, so in a large 
way, is he benefited by wintering in Rome and 
then shipping at Naples for the east. For thus 
he learns the truth emphasized with all magnifi- 
cence, that neither upon this mountain, nor yet 
at Jemsalem, is the only spot of worship. In 
Rome you have seen the pomp of the world's 
metropolis suiTounding the Pope. In Damascus, 
the meanest beggar in the bazaar would spit upon 
the Pope with loatliing. — Eastern Travels. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
FRIENDSHIP. 

BY MART K. DEARBORS. 



is there nought in friendship, 
Or is it but a name ; 

An ideal of the poet's dream, 
A vision of the brain ? 

Doth dark deception lurk behind 

The sweetest, softest smile ; 
Where selfishness, with tyrant's power. 

May calculate the while 7 

Can faithful friends alone be bought 

With fame or tempting gold ; 
And change, as wealth or fortune fail. 

The warm heart to the cold ? 

Alas ! too oft may this be said. 

And said with fearful truth ; 
For oft have many found it thus, 

From infancy to youth ! 

And is there then no friendship true, 
Xo friendship worth the name ; 

Is nought of ancient honor left, 
Doth nought of truth remain? 

1 trust there may, but 'tis a plant 
Of tender growth, and rare ; 

Transplanted hero from brighter skies, 
And needs a purer air. 

AN AFFECT10N.\TE SPIRIT. 

We sometimes meet with men who seem to 
think that any indulgences in afiectionate feeling 
is a weakness. They will return from a journey 
and greet tlieir families with distant dignity, and 
move among their children with the cold and 
lofty splendor of an iceberg, surrounded with its 
broken fragments. There is hardly a more un- 
natural sight on earth than one ot those families 
without hearts. 

A father had better extinguish his son's eyes 
than take away his heart. Wiio that has experi- 
enced the joys of friendship, and knows the 
worth of affection, would not rather lose all that 
is beautiful in nature's scenery, than be robbed 
of the hidden treasures of his heart ? Who 
would not rather bury his wife than bury his love 
for her ? Who would not rather follow his child 
to the grave than entomb his parental affection ? 

Cherish, then, your heart's best aftections. In- 
dulge in the warm and gushing emotions of fiUal, 
parental, fraternal love. Tliink it not a iceak- 
ness. God is love. — Love everything and every- 
body that is lovely. Tea.h your children to 
love ; to love the flowers, to love the birds, to 
love tlieir parents — to love their God. Let it be 
the studied object of your domestic culture to 
give them warm hearts and ardent affections. 
You cannot make the cords of love too strong; 
and be assured that in muturing the principles 
of affection, you are nurturing the principles of 
virtue. — Vermont Fainily Visitor. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
BY THE BROOK. 

BV CHARLES HENRY STE^VART. 



Purling through the 

Babbling o'er the mead. 
Now thy pathway crosses . 

Flowers blue and red. 

Alas : poor brook, thou 'rt weeping 1 

Is 't that we must part ? 
Thy murmur then is keeping 

Voice with my sad heart. 

Ah, kind brook, whilst threading 
Vales, I 've loved thy tide ; 

But now I must be treading 
Manhood's path of pride. 

Kind brook, may I slumber 

By thee when I die ; 
May thy dimpling number 

Still my requiem sigh. 



FELINE SAGACITY. 

Instances of canine sagacity almost equalizing 
the intelligence of reasoning beings being fre- 
quently noticed, the following incident in jjnssy's 
history which occuiTcd in this village in the 
family of the writer, is no less worthy of record. 
A favorite cat, wliich had become strongly at- 
tached to its mistress, and daring her confine- 
ment to her room by sickness, spent most of its 
time with her, manifesting by various cat-like 
demonstrations its love for the lady, wished one 
day to leave the room, and went to the door, 
making the cij^tomary signals of desire to depart 
— such as mewing and looking wistfully into the 
face of its invalid friend, who quietly remarked 
to pussj- that she could not get up to let her out, 
upon which the cat deliberately crossed to the 
other side of the room and mounting a chair, 
seized the bell-rope with its teeth, giving a vigor- 
ous human pull, which, as the cat probably reas- 
oned, brought the answerer of bells to the door. 
Upon its being opened, Madam Puss, who had 
returned to her station, walked out. — Lewiston 
FaUs, Me., Journal. 



To all married men be this caution, 
^^Tiich they should duly tender as their life, 
Neither to dote too much, nor doubt a wife. 

Massinger. 



C03IPETENC'E. 

There are many who are making haste to be 
rich, who need to be reminded that competency 
is all that man can enjoy. Beyond the attahi- 
mcnt of this "golden mean," every acquisition 
becomes mere avarice, by whatever name it may 
be gilded. As long as man is in pursuit of the 
true medium of enjoyment, so strongly expressed 
by Agur in his prayer, he is happy, and happi- 
ness is not only a natural concomitant of hLs 
eflbrts, but the real blessing of Providence upon 
his laudable industiy. But as soon as he steps 
beyond this mark, ajid accumulates for the sake 
of the accumulation, he loses his peace of mind ; 
the light of his quietness is extinguished in anx- 
iety, and his happiness is gone forever. Hence- 
forward carping care, heart-consuming solicitude, 
and fears and terrors without number and with- 
out end, embitter his whole existence. He may 
succeed in what he undertakes, hut it is at the 
expense of all his cheerfulness of heart on earth. 
He may reach the goal of his endeavors, but it 
is at the expense of every noble feehng, of every 
softening emotion. Avarice, the accumulation 
of wealth for its own sake, brings with it its own 
punislnnent in the drying up of every fount of 
human affection within us, in the disruption of 
every tie with which the charities of life are 
hound, and in the conversion of the heart into a 
substance " harder than a millstone." He who 
aims at a competence alone experiences none of 
these evils. He has sufBcicnt for the wants of 
himself and family, whether those wants are real 
or fictitious. 

With all the income which lies beyond, he can 
bless the society in which he lives, be a benefac- 
tor to the human race, and obtain a reputation 
infinitely beyond what the mere acquisition of 
wealth could give. But his own happiness has 
been most abundantly secured. His efforts are 
blessed in all that quietness of feeling which the 
consciousness of a competence bestows ; beyond 
this, he cares not. If Providence should" still 
smile upon his labors, he knows what use to make 
of such occasions of property, and gives not the 
subject an anxious thought. — Exchange. 



[Written for Glcasou's Pictorial.] 
CHILDHOOD. 

BY J. CHERRY. 

How sweet the hours of childhood. 

Just budding into youth ; 
Like flowers in the wildwood — 

Emblems of love and truth. 

Sweet thoughts and pure are with them, 

Shedding radiance divine ; 
While truth and spotless innocence, 

In haloes round them shine. 

The sunny hours of childhood. 

What sweet reflections rise, 
As old associations 

Flit past before my eyes. 

Fond memory's recalling, 
With a sigh, the cherished past ; 

While tears are thickly falling, 
Afi leaves before the blast. 

The playmates of my childhood 

Are scattered far and wide ; 
But oft remembrance brings them, 

In a moment, to my side. 

And again the childish prattle 
Of our school boy days rings out ; 

And the merry laugh and rattle 
Of our noise ends in a shout. 

But this well remembered vision 
Leaves, and wandering thoughts return i 

Yet fond memory -s ever cUnging 
To the scenes that 's past and gone. 



THE FIRST INFANT SCHOOL. 

Mr. Wilderspin, the originator of infant schools, 
gives an amusing account of his first attempt at 
managing a school full of infants. He and his 
wife dreaded the day of opening, and they found 
it truly dreadful. " When the mothers were 
gone, it was arduous work to keep the little 
things entertained and beguiled at all. At last, 
one child cried aloud ; tn'o or three more caught 
up the lamentation, which spread, by infection, 
till evei-y infant of the whole crowd "was roaring 
as loud as it could roar. After vain attempts to 
pacify them, in utter despair about the children, 
and hoiTor at the effect upon the whole neigh- 
borhood, the worthy couple nished from the 
school-room into the next chamber, when the 
wife sank in tears upon the bed. Her husband 
was no less i\Tetched; this din of woe was mad- 
dening : something must be done — but what ? 
In the freakishness of despaii", he seized a pole, 
and put on the top of it a cap of his wife's, which 
was th-ying from the wash-tub. Ho rushed back 
into the school-room, waving his new apparatus 
of instniction — giving, as he found, his first les- 
son on objects. The effect which ensued was 
his lesson. In a minute not a child was crying. 
All eyes were fixed upon the cap ; all tears stood 
still and dried up on all cheeks. The wife now 
joined him ; and they kept the children amused, 
and the neighbors from stonning the doors, till the 
clock stnick twelve. A momentary joy entered 
the hearts of the Wilderspins at tJie sound ; but 
it died away as they sunk down exhausted, and 
asked each other, with faces of dismay, whether 
they were to go through this again in the after- 
noon, and every day." They soon, however, 
reduced the thing to a system, and their task be- 
came first endurable, and at length agreeable— 
JJome JoumaL 



24 



GLEASON'S PICTOPJAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



AMERICAN IIOUSK, ItOSTON. 

The American House is one of the 
finest architectiinil oninmcnrs of the t-ity, 
])rcscuting a beautil'ul front ol' llie Itali;iii 
stylo. The main biiikliiiji is 112 leet 
front on Hanover street, with two wingH 
of six stories, 250 feet deep to Sudbiuy 
street, having a piissuge between them of 
twenty icct in width, tlie area being dis- 
IJO.scd into live ditForent conrts, or open- 
ings — thus furnishing light and air abun- 
dantly, on all sides ; the wliole covering 
27,000 feet of land, ercetcd and iinislicd 
at ft cost of about $300,000. It has 340 
rooms, and will nccommodate 500 jjcr- 
nons. Tlio huUcs' and gentlemen's par- 
lors occupy the wliole front on the lirst 
floor, npproached by wide halls, -with am- 
ple receiving rooms. A balcony extends 
along tiie entire front, the entrance to 
which is from the oriole windows in the 
parlor. It contains suits of splendid 
rooms for private families and parties 
travelling together. The spacious en- 
trance hall or gentleman's exchange on 
the street level, extends through the cen- 
tre of the building, and measures 160 feet 
in length by thirty in width. Besides 
five main stairways leading to the upper 
floor, there are several other fiights in va- 
rious parts of the American House, so 
that in the case of fire, or for any other 
cause, ample means of egress are pro- 
vided. The immense structure has been 
built upon a unique plan, combining the 
utmost convenience of arrangement with 
great elegance and thoroughness of finish, 
and the introduction of all the desired 
modern improvements, and it is probably 
tlie best calculated in all its appointments 
for a large busines,s house, of any in the 
country. A number of our best artisans, 
mechanics and furnishers, have eontri- 
huted their skill and taste to this noble 
pile, which of itself sufficiently speaks 
their praise, as seldom is tbex'C found in a 
single building so much of general perfection. 
With these few brief remarks relative to this fa- 
vorite public house, let us recommend our dis- 
tant friends when they visit Boston, to remember 
the American House. It is a matter of no slight 
imjjortance w^hen a traveller arrives in a strange 
city, for him to know "where to tell the hackman, 
who takes his baggage, to drive him. His own 
mind is relieved, too, of a burthen, in being in- 
formed whither he can go and be sure of those 
comforts and elegant accommodations that cost 
him no more than he would be obliged to pay at 
a second-rate hotel. Besides which, one likes to 
hail from a good house when one visits a new 
city. To persons acquainted with Boston and 
our public houses, the American House will re- 
quire no compliment from us ; but to our distant 
readers, this advice may be of service ; and such, 
will perhaps profit by this reference to one of the 
very best hotels on the American continent. 
AVo propose to give, from time to time, in our 
pages, original views of some of our best hotels, 
in various parts of the Union, not only fur the 
amusement of our readers, but also for their 
real benefit. 




THE AJMIllUtiN HOUSE. BOSTON 



TIIE DANVERS CEKTENNIAL. 

On AVedncsday, June 16th, the town of Dan- 
vers commemorated the one hundredth anniver- 
sary of its incorporation as a town. Our artist, 
who was on the spot, has sketched for us a 
graphic delineation of the scenes of the day, and 
on this and the accompanying page, we give a 
view of one of the most curious and grotesque 
celebrations on record. From an early hour in 
the morning, vehicles of all descriptions were 
pouring in from the neighboring towns, crowded 
with men, women and children ; and, by the 
time the procession began to move, the spacious 
avenues of Danvers were lined by a moving nml- 
titude of happy pcopk, and the windows of her 
dwellings radiant with beaming eyes and smiling 
faces — ^presenting a spectacle, of itself worth a 
long journey to witness, and such as can be seen 
hi so great perfection, in no quarter of the world 
but New England. Across the streets in several 
]>laces were fiags, streamers and inscriptions ; the 
Battle Monument was handsomely ornamented, 
and many houses displayed chaste decorations. 
The procession, under the direction of Dr. S. A. 
Lord, chief marshal, was adminiblj'^ arranged 



and exceedingly creditable to the liberality, taste 
and ingenuity of the Danvers people. Eirst 
came the Salem Mechanic Light Infantry, Capt. 
White, numbering fifty-six guns. They made a 
very fine appearance, and marched to the in- 
spiring music of Smith's ^alem Brass Band. 
Next came the Eire Department, a noble body 
of men, nearly 400 strong, led off by Bond's 
Cornet Band. The engines were profusely dec- 
orated, and the gallant firemen formed a very 
attractive featui-e in the pageant. Danvers 
has, indeed, we think, good reason to be proud 
of her efficient fire department. After these 
came the civic procession — the officers of tlie 
day, invited guests, reverend clergy, committee 
of arrangements and town authorities, in ba- 
rouches and carriages. Among the ancient wor- 
thies was old Master Eppes, in the strange cos- 
tume of the day — a character well personated 
Ity one of the Putnams. The grave old gentle- 
man mightily amused those of this generation, 
who thronged around him, by dwelling sagely 
on the innovations which have been introduced 
while he had been asleep, and wdiich now dis- 
closed themselves to his wondering eyes. Kcxt 



came the antique procession, wherein iig- 
urcd all the old dresses, implements, ve- 
hicles and liousehold furniture, that could 
he gathered in all the counti-y lound — 
and a most interesting Right it ])resented. 
The dignitaricH of the last and preceding 
centuries appeared rcHtored to life, and 
re-enacted the Hcencs in which tliey are 
depicted on the page of history. The 
humbler classes of that day, loo, had their 
re|n'cscntat)VCB, and once more walked 
the earth as when alive. Here marched 
a stui'dy old bachelor of 1752, in cocked 
hat, flowing wjg, scarlet dress coat of the 
ancient style, drab breeches, shoe buckles, 
etc. Then the Putnam family — a memo- 
rable household group — a venerable 
chaise, with a lady and gentleman of the 
old school — carts containing hand weav- 
ers, hand spinners, market women — a ve- 
Jiicle which, with its trappings, occupants, 
and ring-boned rosinante, seemed to have 
Jiad its origin before the flood — a sleigh 
of 1752 — a Blind Hole shoe manufactory 
of 1789, in full operation — Pottery and 
other occupations ; showing the costumes, 
employments, etc., of various periods 
from 1652. Next followed the fourteen 
district schools, led oft' by the Georgetown 
Brass Band, and presenting a most beau- 
tiful feature in the procession. Prom 
twelve to fifteen hundred children, in hol- 
iday an-ay, could not fail to call out ex- 
clamations of delight from every specta- 
tor. Here was represented a trial for 
witchcraft — tlic court and its officers in 
full blast. The chief justice, Cotton Ma- 
ther, Rev. Mr. BuiToughs, and other his- 
torical characters, the witnesses, etc., were 
enacted to the life. Other scenes and 
groups, finely represented, showing the 
schools of 1752 and 1852 in contrast, etc. 
The pupils of the Pirst District School, 
numlK-rJng 160, males and females, were 
uniformly clad in Turkish costume. 
Then tlici*e were flower girls, Chinese, 
Scotch, rural representations, a pony chaise, u 
rustic vehicle drawn by twelve oxen, with ban- 
ners and inscriptions. Finally came a cavalcade 
of nearly 300 horsemen, iinder the marshalship 
of Mr. Prancis Dane, and this teiminated the 
grand programme of the pageant of a day which 
will long be remembered. 

One great fcarurc of the day was the superb 
display of Mr. Yale's famous mammoth tents. 
His mammoth tent was used on the occasion for 
the dinner, and was the mh*aele of the occasion. 
His large medium tent was improved for the 
children to dine under, and sixteen hundred little 
souls sat down together under its ample canopy. 
Mr. Yale has four medium size tents of this cal- 
ibre, wdiich are to let for grand picnics, camp 
meetings, celebrations, etc. His largest tent is 
capable of covering a space three hundred feet in 
length! The dinner on the above occasion was 
prepared by Mr. Shennan, of Salem, and gave 
general satisfaction. In short, tlie wdiole affair 
reflects the greatest credit upon the getters-up of 
the celebration, and also upon all concerned in 
the matter ; and our pictures of the same cannot, 
Ave think, fail to please them. 




vale's mammoth tent, as SPREAD AT THE DANVERS CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DllAWIWCx. HOOM COMPANION. 



25 




SCENE REPRESENTING THE ilNTIQUE PROCESSION, AT THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, AT D.iNraRS, JLASS. 



26 



GLEASON'S I'lCTOUlAL DRAWING EOOM COMPANION. 



[Written for Olcaeon's Pictorial.] 
SHE SLEEPS IN THE CONVENT YARD. 

BY F. 0. BYLVANOS HURLBUT. 

She hfw t'ono to flleop ! she hiin gone to nlcep ! 
On hor pillow, cold and Imrd ; 
'Neath tlic omngo lilomu, 
In hor narrow tomh — 
She Bleeps in tho convent yard. 

Sho hnn gone to roHt ! she has gone to rest I 
The lovely and the fair ; 
Whilo the linnets wing 
In the spangled spring, 
By tlio evening priniroHo there. 

And the phitomil and tlie robin eiug, 
lu tho eyprcBS overhead ; 

Whilo tlie turtles pine 

In tho (lowery lime, 
O'er the long-forgotten dead. 

Sho hnfl gone to i-cst ! she has gone to rest I 
On her pillow, cold and hard ; 

AMiere tho orange grows, 

And the linic tree hlows— 
She slccpa in the convent yard. 

Sho has gone to sleep 1 she has gone to sleep ! 
In tho spring-time of her yeara ; 

With the molting dyes 

Of her gazelle eyes, 
Her roses and her tears. 

She has gone to rest ! she has gone to rest I 
She sleeps by her youthful bard. 

Where the turtles pine 

In the flowering lime, 
In the lonely convent yard. 

He fell in his pride on the field of blood, 
Was laid on his pillow hard, 
"UTien Celia fled 
To his mossy bed, 
To pine in the convent yard. 

She planted flowers, pale flowers around 
His laureled dust above ; 

And the birds sang sweet, 
As she came to weep, 
The dewdrops of her love. 

But the autumn came, and the winter came, 
And the spring was gi-cen and gay. 
When they laid her deep, 
Where the violets weep. 
In the ravislunents of May. 

And side by side 'neath the orange bloom, 
On their pillows, cold and hard ; 

They lowly lie 

Where the west winds sigh, 
In the gloomy convent yard. 

Mild eve may smile in the rosy west, 

Through the Eldorado gate, 

Where they used to stray, 

At the hush of day, 

Tor the evening wind to wait. 

But their tombs arc there by the flowering lime, 
And their beds are cold and hard ; 

And they sweetly rest 

'Neath the turtle's nest, 
In the gloomy convent yard. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

THE ROYAL FAVORITE. 

A TALE OF THE EAKLY HISTOHY OF SPAIN. 

BY MISS SARAH M. HOWE. 

CHAPTER I. 

In a richly-fumi-shcd apartment of his royal 
palace, sat tlie king of Spain — a dark cloud rest- 
ing npon his liauf;,lity brow. The monarcli's 
thoughts were evidently of an unpleasant char- 
acter, for liis pale Hps were tightly compressed, 
and ever and anon, an oath or angry word es- 
caped them, betraying the evil spirit that burned 
within liis bosom. His countenance — ever ma- 
lignant and repulsive — was now almost demon- 
like in its cxprcs.sion ; and his dark eyes glittered 
fiercely through the overhanging brows which 
shaded them, like the wildly-rolling orbs of a 
beast of prey. 

His only attendant was a young man of not 
more than twenty years of age, and wliosc dress 
and liearing bespoke him to be of royal lineage. 
His dark, handsome face and fascinating smile 
Avould favorably impress the casual observer; 
but that impression would he changed, upon a 
closer scnitiny, to one of distrust and fear. 
There was something in tlie sparkling eyes, as 
be turned them full upon the king, that betrayed 
a deceitful heart ; and beneath that fascinating 
smile lurked an expression that he would fain 
liave concealed. Yet his countenance was emi- 
nently handsome, and bis shining dark hair, 
wliich fell in curls about Ids finely-moulded 
KhonbhirH, gave him an appearance of almost 
feminine licauty. Such was the young Prince 
Alvci-nc, the ncj)hew of tlie Spanisli monarch, 



and universally known as "tho royal favorite." 
The monarch, at last, raised his head, and fixing 
his glittering eyes upon his companion's counte- 
nance, spoke in an earnest tone : 

" Alvcrnc, was not the princess much excited 
when she spoke thus to you ?" 

Tlic pleasant smile quickly disappeared from 
tlic face of tlie prince, and assuming an air of 
sadness, he replied ; 

" Sho was calm and cold when first she in- 
formed mc that I sliould meet with no favor 
from her ; but as I passionately entreated her to 
smile once upon me, she became much excited, 
and I left lier in anger." 

"And sho has forbidden you to agani enter 
her presence?" 

*' She has, your majesty. She told me I could 
never sit upon the tlironc of Spain hy her side 
— that she would never wed one so steeped in 
infamy and crime as she believed me to be — that 
she knew mc to be false to my king and country, 
and branded me as a murderer!" 

" Did the Princess Veldima speak thus toi/ou?" 

" She did, your majesty." 

" Bring her before me," commanded the king, 
his face flushed with terrible anger. The young 
prince left the ajiartment; and, as he crossed the 
large hall, he muttered : " The haughty Veldima 
shall yet be my bride, and I tlie king of Spain !" 

A few moments elapsed, during which the 
king paced the room impatiently, liis whole na- 
ture aroused. At length the door of tlic apart- 
ment again opened, and the prince entered, fol- 
lowed by a richly-dressed young lady. The king 
stopped, and fixing his eyes full npon her coun- 
tenance, exclaimed ; 

" Veldima ! hast thou this day refused to wed 
thy cousin, the Prince Alverne, and branded him 
as a murderer and a traitor ?" 

" Father," said tlie noble young princess, 
drawing up her form to its utmost heiglit, " if 
Prince Alveme ever sits upon the throne of 
Spain, it will not be by my placing the cro^^'n 
upon his head !" 

** Princess Veldima!" cried the angry mon- 
arch, " dost thou realize wliat tliou hast spoken V 

" I do, father/' answered the proud spirited 
daughter. "But three days have passed since I 
saw him drive his dagger through the heart of a 
fellow-creature, when he thought no eye, save 
that of the AU-seeing One, witnessed the deed !" 

The prince became pale as marble, and seemed 
transfixed to the spot where he stood. But the 
king noticed not liis agitation, for his attention 
was fixed entirely upon Veldima. 

" You shall rue tliese words !" cried he, his 
eyes flashing fire. " They are false, as is your 
own proud heart! You sliall be immured in 
one of our darkest dungeons ; and if then you 
will not submit, Prince Alverne shall be king of 
Spain, and I will disinherit you forever ! Ho, 
guards !" lie cried, raising his voice, " arrest this 
woman !" 

A file of soldiers entered the apartment, to 
perfonn the bidding of the king. But wonder 
and surprise were visible upon their features, as 
lie pointed to his daughter, who stood near liim, 
with a proud smile of courage upon her features. 

"The Princess Veldima!" exclaimed one of 
the soldiers, " you did not bid us arrest her?" 

" Obey me !" thundered the king, with a ges- 
ture of i npatience ; " take her prisoner !" 

Without a word of resistance, knowing that it 
would l>e useless, the noble princess surrendered 
lierself to the surprised guards, and was led from 
the palace. The royal favorite gazed calmly on 
the proceedings, but spoke not a word till the 
sounds of their retreating footsteps died away in 
the distance, and the king had once more re- 
sumed his seat. 



CHAI^TER II. 

The golden sun had again gilded the glitter- 
ing towers of the Spanish metropolis, and gave 
promise of a cloudless day. Its cheering rays 
fell through the barred dungeon window upon 
the fair bead of the beautiful young prisoner, the 
royal Princess Veldima. She had fallen into an 
uneasy slumber, and heeded not the brigJit beams 
that fell upon her countenance, for her thoughts 
were far away in the land of dreams. 

She was suddenly aroused by the sound of the 
removal of the bolts and bars of the door, and 
ere she had time to spring to her feet, a man, 
closely muffled in a heavy cloak, and masked, 
entered the dungeon. The princess gazed at the 
figure in surprise. He approached licr, and 
bending his head, whispered hastily : 

" Lady, I have come to save thee ! Trust mc, 
and all sliall vet be well !" 



Veldima endeavored to penetrate the dark 
mask that covered the strange visitor'H features, 
but it was in vain. She was about to speak, but 
he prevented her by whispering: 

" Speak not above your breath, huly ! ToUow 
mc quickly, if you would save your life and 
mine ! I have perilled all to rescue thee !" 

His low, cai'uest voice and words sent a thrill 
to the heart of the young pj-iucess, and I'ising, 
sho placed her hand in his, and he led her from 
the cold, cheerless cell. Ho then closed the 
door, and placing his foot upon a concealed 
spring near it, a trap-door sprang open, disclos- 
ing a long flight of steps. The heart of the 
maiden Iiounded witli hope. They stepped 
down, and the masked guide closing the trap- 
door by a second sjiring, tlicy were now in almost 
Egyptian darkness. But the Pi-incess Veldima 
knew not fear; and tightly gntsping the aim of 
her protector, she descended the steps. At 
length they reached the bottom, and traversing 
a long, winding |)assage, arrived at a door, 
tlirough the key-hole of which streamed a faint 
ray of light. The guide drew from his bosom a 
small, strangely-fashioned key, and applying it, 
the door sprang open, and the sun-rays fell in 
with a brightness that almost blinded the eyes of 
Veldima. Nothing was visible from the door, 
save the blue water of the river which glided 
noiselessly by, and the emerald green hanks on 
the opposite aide, covered with beautiful flowers. 
The princess looked up inquiringly. 

*' You shall soon he free, fair lady," said the 
masked guide, as he stooped and took up the 
end of a coil of ro])e, which was there fastened. 
He soon drew a boat in front of the secret door, 
which opened on the very verge of the water, 
and assisting the princess into it, sprang in him- 
self, but not without throwing the cloak he had 
woni, over the shoulders of the maiden, thereby 
entu'cly concealing her person. He then re- 
locked the door, and taking up an oar which lay 
in the bottom of the boat, propelled the light 
skifl' swiftly down the river. 

On it sped, past the gay and stirring city, al- 
most unnoticed, even by the numerous boats that 
passed them. The dark cloak entirely concealed 
the face and form of the Princess Veldima, and 
the mask prevented any recognition of the fea- 
tures of her companion, by those who might 
have known him. At length the boat stopped 
in a small unfrequented cove far down the river, 
and the masked guide, turning to tlie rescued 
lady, said : 

" You are free, fair Princess Veldima, and 
need no longer apprehend danger from the king, 
or tlie Prince Alverne." 

She raised her eyes with a look of joy and 
gratitude, and a sweet smile wreathed her curved 

lips. 

" I cannot thank you sufficiently, noble stran- 
ger," she said, taking from lier finger a diamond 
ring of great value, and extending it towards her 
rescuer. " Take this," she continued, " as a 
slight proof of my gratitude for this noble action ." 

The stranger placed the ring in his bosom, 
and after a few more words, again moved swifdy 
down the river, leaving the princess standing 
alone upon the bank. She watched the receding 
boat for a few moments, then turned and walked 
slowly from the spot. Whither to turn her 
steps, she scarcely knew ; she dared not return 
to the palace, and though a royal princess, she 
felt it to be tnie that she was an escaped prisoner. 
A light footstep behind her broke her reverie, 
and she turned to ascertain wlio was following. 
But her cheek paled quickly, and she uttered a 
cry of surprise ; for tliere before her, with a smile 
of conscious power upon his countenance, stood 
her dreaded cousin. Prince Alverne, "Me rojial 
favorite.'' 

Por several moments both were silent. The 
princess stood transfixed to the spot where she 
had first beheld Prince Alverne, her countenance 
pale as marble, and expressive of surprise and 
fear. The prince gazed upon the astonished 
lady, with a smile of conscious power npon his 
handsome lips, and his dark eyes glittering with 
pleasure. 

" We have met once more, fair lady," at 
length spoke the royal favorite, " and when you 
little thought of such a meeting." 

" I confess it. Prince Alverne," answered Vel- 
dima, fixing her dark oycs upon the face of her 
cousin ; " but was it not your plan to surprise me, 
and again drag me before the king'?" 

" I knew not that you had escaped, fair prin- 
cess, until I saw you leave the boat but a few 
moments since. This meeting has surprised me, 
if possible, as much as it has yourself." 

" And now tliat I am once more in your 



power, do you intend to bring mo again before 
my royal father?" asked tho princess, with a 
slight touch of irony in her tone, 

"Fair Princess Veldima," said the prince 
sinking gracefully on one knee before her, and 
assuming an attitude of the deepest devotion, " 1 
take no advantage of my power, hut to declare 
again my burning passion fur thee. Lady, I 
have long loved tbcc. Thou hast bcorned me, 
and refused to hear mc. But I Inivc not forgot- 
ten tboo, and once more I lay my heart at thy 
feet. Do not scorn me, lady !" 

" Thy words are fruitless, Prince Alveme, 
Speak not of this subject again, for thou hast my 
final answer, and I cannot retract my vow." 

" Lady, hear mc for a moment. Your father, 
the king, immured you in a cheerless dungeon 
for disobedience to his wishes in this matlcr. 
He has sworn that if you do not wed me, you 
shall remain there until your proud spirit is en- 
tirely crushed. In some maimer, but I kno'w 
not how, you have this day escaped. But even 
your life is now in peril, tbougJi all the kingdom 
knows that you are the rightful heir of the throne 
of Spain. Your father has sworn that I shall 
be king of Spain, even if I receive not tljc crown 
from your hand. But this is impossible ; for the 
whole kingdom will rise against me, when I as- 
cend the throne, and claim their rightful sov- 
ereign, the Princess Veldima. The king's oath 
must be fulfilled. Be my bride, sweet princess, 
and all will yet be well. Thy father will again 
receive thee to his arms — ^my happiness will be 
complete — and thou yet be queen of Spain !" 

"I scorn thee!" cried the spirited princess, 
drawing her proud form to its utmost height, 
while her dark eyes flashed with an angry fire. 
" I scorn thee and thy ambition ! I know that 
thou hast murdered thy fellow-man ! I know 
that thou liast perjured thyself to the king ! I 
know the iniquity of thy heart ! Think you I 
would give my hand and throne to one so steep- 
ed in guilt and crime ? Again, I repeat, I scorn 
thee !" 

The Prince Alveme sprang to his feet, and 
gazed fi.xedly in the flashing eyes of the noble 
young Princess Veldima. She met his gaze 
witli a look of such proud, fearless scora, that 
his eye fell before it. The next instant he 
sprang to her side, and drawing a glittering dag- 
ger from his bosom, pointed it to the heart of 
the noble princess. 

" Princess Veldima !" cried the royal favorite, 
his eyes flashing fire, " swear tome that you will 
place upon my head the ero\vn of Spain, or your 
death shall be added to the murders that aU'eady 
hang upon my soul !" 

" Would you bury your dagger in the heart of 
your rightful sovereign?" fearlessly asked the 
princess. 

"Iwoidd buiy it in the heart of every sov- 
ereign in Eiu'ope, if by the act I could but pos- 
sess their thrones !" madly cried the prince, 
mo^^ng the dagger nearer to the heart of the 
princess. 

She shuddered at his words and manner, yet 
her self-possession did not desert her at this mosj 
fearful moment of her life. She felt the need of 
calmness and courage, for she knew the prince 
rarely spoke in i^ain. 

"Swear to me that I shall yet be a king!" 
cried the prince, fiercely ; " I give you but a 
short time to decide your course — to live my 
bride and queen of Spain, or die now by my own 
hand !" 

The princess raised her eyes to heaven, for an 
instant, in prayer. Then fixing them upon the 
passion-stamped countenance of the prince, she 
said, in a voice of thrilling impressiveness : 

" Thou shalt never wear my cro\vn, or sit 
xipon my throne !" 

" Then thy death shall be npon my soul I" 
fiercely muttered the prince. But a hand was 
laid firmly upon the arm which grasj^ed the dag- 
ger, and a clear, commanding voice exclaimed : 

" Harm her not, as thou vainest thine oivn 
Ufe !" 

Prince Alveme started quickly, and dropped 
the dagger. He turned and beheld the masked 
stranger, who had that morning rescued the 
princess from the dungeon. Veldima clasped 
her hands and sprang forward. 

"Who art thou?" faltered the prince, with a 
vain attempt at calmness, though his tongue was 
nearly paralyzed with fear. The stranger deigned 
no reply, but still grasped the arm that would 
liave murdered the rightful heiress of the Span- 
ish throne. 

" AVho art thou, that dai-es speak thus to the 
king's favorite?" said the prince, endeavoring 
to shake oif the fear that bad taken possession 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWINCx ROOM COMPATs^ION. 



27 



of his house. The stranger slowly raised the 
mask from his face, as he looseued his grasp of 
the prince's arm. Suddenly, the countenance of 
Frince Alverne became livid with fear and hor- 
ror ; he sprang backward, and gazed wildly on 
the stranger's face, revealed by the removal of 
the mask, then muttering : " the dead have risen 
to foil me !" foil insensible to the ground. 



CHAPTER III. 

The last rays of the setting sun were just 
faintly brightening the hills of Spain, and bid- 
ding farewell to the beautiful earth ere they left 
it in silent darkness. Moving slowly up a rug- 
ged path that led up the side of one of the snow- 
cro^vncd mountains of Castile, were two figures, 
each -wi-apped in a dark, ample cloak, and 
mounted upon a much-wearied horse. As occa- 
sionally a ray of sunlight gleamed upon the fea- 
tures of the youngest rider, it showed that they 
were those of our fair young heroine, the royal 
princess Veldima, and her companion was no 
otlier than the noble stranger, who had saved 
her from death by the hand of the royal favorite. 

For an hour more the wearied horses toiled up 
the rugged mountain path, until the last dying 
ray of the setting sun had faded from the far 
distant hills. At length the guide halted before 
a huge unshapely rock, which seemed to guard 
the entrance to one of those mountain-caves 
which are known only in the rocky, towering 
mountains of Castile. 

"We have at length reached our destination, 
fair princess," said the guide, as they dismounted 
and entered the cavern. All was now dark as 
the regions of Erebus, and silent as the grave. 
Princess Veldima could not repress a shudder, 
as she listened to the unearthly sound of her 
own footsteps, as she followed her conductor 
thi-ough the dark passage that led to the main 
portion of the cavern. Suddenly the guide 
stopped, and in a voice that rang through the 
cave like a clarion, he shouted : 

" Ho, my followers ! Give entrance to your 
leader \" 

In another moment the soimds of bolts and 
bars were heard being removed, and a large 
stone door was slowly opened, disclosing to the 
astonished eyes of the princess such a scene as 
had never befoi'e blessed her vision. Though 
she had been an inmate of a palace, still she had 
never viewed such a scene of splendor as she 
now gazed upon. She stood before the entrance 
to a hall of immense size, the whole length of 
which was a table covered with the choicest 
fruits and wines of every land, in baskets and 
cups of massive gold, which reflected back the 
rays of a hundred brilliant lights with glittering 
splendor. The stone walls were concealed by a 
rich drapery of crimson velvet, that hung in 
heavy folds to the floor, which wag covered with 
a carpet richer than any the surprised princess 
had ever seen in the royal halls of her father's 
palace. Tliere were nearly two hundred men in 
this almost fairy palace, and each sprang forward 
to welcome their leader as he entered, mechani- 
cally followed by the princess. The stone door 
was again closed and barred upon the inner side, 
and the men stood silent, awaiting the commands 
of tlieir leader, and gazing with curiosity upon 
the face of his companion. 

"Eair Princess Veldima," said her stranger 
friend, taking her hand and leading her forward, 
" these are my friends and followers, and there 
is not one of us that would not lay down his life 
to place you upon the throne of your ancestors. 
My follcnvers, this is your princess ; and I doubt 
not each one of you will swear to protect her 
with your lives, if need be." 

The next instant a ringing shout awoke every 
sleeping echo of the vast cave, as it went up 
from every heart in that immense hall, " Long 
live the Piincess Veldima !" 

" My noble followers," said their leader, his 
nandsome face lighting up with pleasure, "your 
fau- princess cannot doubt your loyalty to her 
cause, or your willingness to place her upon the 
throne of her royal ancestors. Her father, the 
present king of Spain, has sworn that his favor- 
ite, the Prince Alvenie, shall yet wear the crown. 
To gain this end, lie has detennined that his 
noble daughter shall wed the prince, and then 
his royal favorite will be king of Spain, as the 
husband of its queen. The heart of the princess 
shi-inks from such an imion, for she loves not 
the Prince Alverne. The throne of Spain is her 
rightful heritage, as the last descendant of its 
ancient kings. Will you strike for your princess 
and her crown, and place lier upon the throne, 
sole sovereign of Spain V 



Again the vast cave rang with the shouts of 
the noble hand: "Long live Queen Veldima, 
sole sovereign of Spain !" 

The sun had thrice risen and set over the 
proud Spanish meti-opolis, since the royal Prin- 
cess Veldima had disappeared from the palace. 
It had become generally known that she had 
been cast into one of the darkest dungeons of the 
city, by order of the king ; and the populace had 
become aroused and incensed at this act of in- 
dignity to their future queen, and there was 
scarce a man but burned to revenge it. No one 
knew whither she had gone ; and the uncertainty 
of her fate added fuel to the flame already 
kindled. 

The last rays of the setthig sun gleamed in at 
the drapcried window, where sat the king of 
Spain, his mind entirely absorbed by the thoughts 
that were passing within his bosom. His brow 
was clouded with a dark shade of care, for he 
already suspected the spirit that was rising 
against him in the city, and freely would he 
have forgiven his daughter, if his forgiveness 
could but have brought her back to his palace 
halls once more. He heeded not the unusual 
stirring of the people — he heeded not their 
strange movements, and saw not the dark band 
of men, clad from head to foot in glittering steel, 
which, at that moment, wound around the base 
of the mountain and entered the city. He not 
even suspected the imminent danger that was 
hanging over him, until upon the evening air 
was borne to his ears a thrilling, startling, deep- 
toned cry: 

" Do^\-n with the tyrant and usurper ! Long 
live Queen Veldima!" 

The tvrant king knew that that ci*y was his 
death-knell ; but it was too late to think of flight. 
The whole city was in a wild uproar. Every 
man of the excited populace echoed that fearful 
ciT, and grasping his weapons, dealt death and 
destruction to the soldiers of the king, who 
fought with a courage worthy of a better cause. 
Never had the Spanish city been the scene of 
such a terrific warfare. Several of the stately 
mansions had been set on fire, and the red flames 
gleamed up into the evening sky, and liglited up 
the whole city with a fearful brilliance. Dark 
forms moved to and fro, and glittering swords 
were raised, and descended with a deadly, un- 
erring aim. The watchword : " Down with the 
tyrant !" rang clear and shrill above every other 
cry, for it was repeated from a thousand tongues. 

The whole army of the king was now en- 
gaged in the battle. Though tlie populace fought 
desperately, yet they at length began to give 
ground. The wild shout was repeated with less 
thrilling energy, and it at length became evident 
that the soldiers must conquer. At this crisis 
the king appeared upon a balcony of the royal 
palace, robed in his full regal costume, with the 
crown glittering upon his brow, and in a voice 
of firm command, shouted to his followers : 

" Strike for your king ! Death to all who — " 

" Tyrant, usui-jjer, murderer ! I have thee 
now !" cried a voice that made the blood of the 
guilty king fall coldly back upon his heart, as he 
turned to confront the speaker. But the next 
instant he gave a wild shriek of horror, and fell 
back upon the pavement, a lifeless corpse ! The 
stranger caught up the royal crown and sceptre, 
and disappeared for a moment within the palace, 
then again sprang forward to the conflict of life 
and deatli. 

The death of the king seemed to inspire the 
almost despairing people with a new energy, and 
to have upon Ills soldiers a contrary influence. 
Ere another hour had passed, the victorious pop- 
ulace were masters of the city, and the soldiery 
completely routed. But wliere was the Princess 
Veldima ? 

A tali, noble form sprang up the steps leading 
to the royal palace, and, facing the excited mul- 
titude, requested for a moment their attention, 

" Friends and countrymen," spoke the stran- 
ger, in a voice that commanded the attention of 
all; "but few of you have been aware before to- 
night, that the king that has so long ruled your 
countiy was not the rightful heir of the throne of 
Spain, but a wicked usurper. At the death of 
King Conrad II, it was known to but few that 
he left a daughter, then but two years of age — 
for the somewhat eccentric king cliose to keep it 
a secret. The throne was thus left without a 
successor. A cunning and ambitious nobleman, 
knowing this, successfully personated the long- 
lost brother of King Conrad, and, by forged cer- 
tificates of his identity, at length reached the 
height of his ambition, the tlirone of Spain. 
All who knew that the late king left a su" essor 



to his crown, were secretly poisoned, save one. 
That one was an old man, who escaped to the 
mountains, with his only son, and for several 
years lived concealed in one of the mountain 
caves of Castile, rarely visiting the city, and 
then in disguise. That old man, who was my 
father, compelled me to swear that I would yet 
place the Princess Veldima, the only daughter 
of Iving Conrad, upon the throne of her ances- 
tors. In the meanwhile, the usui-per, who proved 
himself a t}Tant, seeing the budding beauty of 
the princess, and knowing that her noble quali- 
ties would make her a favorite among the people, 
adopted lier, and she was known as his daughter. 
Desiring that his family should yet wear the 
crown, he planned a union between his nephew 
and the priiieessj whereby the guilty Prince Al- 
verne would be king of Spain. The noble prin- 
cess firmly refused, and the incensed king caused 
her to be immured in a common dungeon, from 
which, three days since, I rescued her. Again 
her life was menaced by the Prince Alvenie, 
when, to ensure her safety, I took her to my 
mountain cave, Avhere my followers, who have 
made themselves so famous on land and sea by 
their fearless daring, welcomed their princess 
with enthusiasm and joy. This night we have 
conquered the usurper's soldiery — he and his 
guilty nephew have gone to their last account, 
and the Princess Veldima is now your queen !" 
At this moment one of the palace doors open- 
ed, and a light form stepped out upon the bal- 
cony, and stood by the side of the speaker. It 
was the princess ; but she now wore the splendid 
robe of a Spanish queen, and upon her regal 
brow glittered the royal diadem of Spain. The 
next instant a shout went up from the assembled 
multitude, that echoed from the far-off' hills : 
"Long live Veldima, true queen and sovereign 
of Spain !" 

The princess placed her hand in that of the 
one who stood beside her, and placed upon his 
brow her crown. Again a ringing shout went 
up from the assembled people : " Long live Or- 
land, king of Spain I" 

They had spoken rightly. It was indeed the 
daring Orland, whose feats of brai'ery had 
sounded over land and sea. The princess had 
now given her lieart with her hand and throne, 
and well worthy of them was her noble husband. 
The royal favorite had lost his life in the conflict 
of that fearful evening, and the princess feared 
no more his crime-stained hand. Thus, though 
life may be beset with soitow, still, in the end, 
happiness will be the jjortion of the vhtuous and 
noble. 



pfVritten for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
SU3IMER EVE. 



Br L. M. BROWN. 



[^yritten for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
TO THE ESTRANGED. 

BY OWEN G. WARREN. 

In the glad sunshine of thy lovely spirit 

I basked awhile, and was supremely blest ; 
And with a longing sympathy drew near it, 

As to a shrine of everiasting rest. 
A cloud has come between us now, and never 

Canst thou to me thy joyous Hght impart ; 
Our souls are sundered — I shall see thee ever 

Only as thou art pictured on my heart. 

But on my bosom's golden throne I 've set thee, 

A star-cro\vned angel, ever in my sight ; 
And could not hate thee — could not now forget thee, 

However changed, however veiled in night- 
I have been blest — that joy shall be eternal, 

And from death's portal bear my soul sublime ; 
For neither powers of earth, noi- fates supernal, 

Shall snatch the memory of that happy time. 

CURIOUS, BUT NOT AGREEABLE. 

I have no sympathy for machinery ; tlie action 
of machines of great power teirifles me by its 
impassibility. There are some, above all, em- 
ployed for beating out metals, which do so to an 
alarming extent. AVhatever tliese may happen 
to seize between their iron teeth, once seized, the 
thing must pass through a hole more or less 
great, towards which all fabrieahle substances 
are conducted. Of whatever size the thing may 
be goes in — let it be a beam of the greatest thick- 
ness — it will come out stretched into a knitting 
needle of the greatest fineness. As for the ma- 
chine, it merely turns, and it matters not to it 
what the substance may be which it lias to crush 
and draw out. You oft^er it an iron — the mon- 
ster draws it to itself and devours it. You don't 
take your hand back quickly enough, the macliine 
pinches the end of your linger, and all is over. 
You may cry out, but if there be no one present 
with a hatchet to cut your wrist off, after the 
finger comes tlie hand, after the hand the arm, 
after the arm the head, after the head the body. 
Nothing will avail you ; the shortest plan for 
your friends is to look out for you on the other 
side of the machine. You went in a man, you 
come out a wire ; in five minutes you liave gi^own 
two hundred feet ; it is curious, but not agreeable. 
— Pictures of Travels in the South of France. 



Who loveth not a summer eve, 
An eve in the month of June ; 

MTien fragrance fills the western breeze, 
And sweet is the wood bird's tune? 

When gently waves tlie verdant robe 
That -s o'er the pine trees thrown ; 

While the lovely rose so meekly bends 
To the wind from the ocean blown. 

Then the silver dews the flowers sip, 
And fling their breath on the air ; 

While fairies seem to girt them round, 
From the regions of the fair. 

The moon shines with a tender glow, 
Plooding the green vale bright ; 

And the boughs of the wide old wood 
Dance gaily in her hght. 

Now bright Arcturus's steady glow 

Joins with her silver beam ; 
"Which rests upon the snow-white sail. 

That glides adown the stream. 

Erom the forest comes a low, sweet tone, 
Like the plaintive note of bird ; 

Which mingled with the waters' rush, 
Is all the sound that 's heard. 

Then who loveth not a summer eve, 
An eve in the month of June ; 

When fragrance fills the western breeze, 
And sweet is the wood bird's tune. 



HONORING PARENTS. 

As a stranger went into the church-yard of a 
pretty village, he beheld tliree children at a 
newly made grave. A boy about ten years of 
age was busily engaged in placing plats of turf 
about it, while a girl, who appeared a year or 
two younger, held in lier apron a few roots of 
wdd flowers. The third child, still younger, 
was sitting on the grass, watching with thought- 
ful look at the movements of the other two. 
They wore pieces of crape on their straw hats, 
and a few other signs of the mourning, such as 
are sometimes worn by the poor who struggle 
between theh poverty and their afflictions. 

The girl began by planting some of her wild 
flowers around the head of tlie grave, when the 
stranger thus addressed them : 

" Whose grave is this, children, about which 
you are so busily engaged V 

" Mother's grave, sir," said the boy. 

" And did your father send you to place these 
flowers around your mother's grave V 

" No, sir, father lies here too, and little Willie 
and sister Jane." 

" "Wlien did they die 1" 

" Mother was buried a fortnight yesterday, sir, 
but father died last winter — they all lie here." 

" Then who told you to do this '?" 

" Nobody, sir," replied the girl. 

" Then why do you do it ?" 

They appeared at a loss for an answer ; but 
the stranger looked so kindly at them that at 
length tlie eldest replied, as tlie tears started to 
his eyes : 

" 0, we do love them, sir." 

" Then you put these grass turfs and wild 
flowers where your parents are laid, because 3'ou 
love them ?" 

" Yes sh"," they all eagerly replied. 

What can be more beautiful than sucli nn ex- 
hibition of children honoring deceased jjareuts ? 
Never forget tlie dear parents who loved and 
cherished you in your infant days. Ever re- 
member their parental kindness. Honor their 
memory by doing those things which you know 
would please them when alive, by a particular 
regard to their dying commands, and eanying 
on their plans of usefulness. Arc your parents 
spared to you 1 Ever treat them as you will 
wish you had done, wlien you stand a lonely or- 
phan at their graves. How will a remembrance 
of kind, afi'ectionate conduct towards these de- 
parted friends, then help to soothe your grief and 
heal your wounded heart. — Delaware Gazette. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
HOPE ON— HOPE EVER. 

BY CAROUNB A. HAYDEN. 

Did not the future grow brighter each day, 

And hope lend its sunbeams to lighten the way ; 

Vain as the thoughts of the dreamer would be, 

In its high aspirations our destiny. 

Earth's highest wrought visions were worthless, if fear 

Shadowed over the hopes they held out to us liere. 

"nTiat is thy destiny? seest thou afar, 

In the distance, a bright and beaming star, 

Leading thee on thi-ough the tj^il and strife, 

Shedding its peace on the turmoil of life ; 

follow it truthfully I life can impart 

Nothing sweeter than hope to the trusting heart. 



Riches, without meekness and thankfulness, 
do not make any man happy; but riches with 
them remove many fears and cares. Therefore 
my advice is, that you endeavor to be honestly 
rich or contentedly poor; but be sure that your 
riches he justh' got, or you spoil all. For it is 
said : " He that loses his conscience has nothing 
left tliat is worth keeping." — Izaak Walton. 



28 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROGM COMPANION. 



THE FINDING OF MOSES. 

Upon this paffc our nrtist has given its unothcr 
fine sketch from Bitilc history, of one of those 
strikin<i; scenes which have hcen the tlienic of 
admiring wonder for ages. The devout Chris- 
tian has rejoiced to note the remai-kahlo sueecs- 
Kion of providences which trace tiieir origin to 
this starting-point, and the mere student of his- 
tory, viewing the subject only philosophically, 
has regarded the connecting links of tlic chain 
of events as at least of a singuhirly fortuitous 
character. If it be the province of art to perpe- 
tuate scenes and incidents i-emarkablc in them- 
selves, ana important in their consequences, it is 
difficult to name an event more worthy to be 

S reserved, than this subject of ** The Pinding of 
loses." While our attention is drawn to it, wo 
can but wonder and admire the ways of provi- 
dence, in saving from destruction an infant, who, 
in Ills manhood, was to act a part so extraordi- 
nary, and whoso influence was to be felt through 
all suicrcdiit;; iigcs. A brief review of the cir- 
cumstances \\ liicli led to the scene the artist has 
brought so pleasingly before us, may not be im- 
pertinent. According to Josephus, tliorc existed 
among the Egyptians a prophecy, that a Hclu'cw 
child should one day diminish the power and 



and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put 
the child therein ; and she laid it in the flags hy 
the river's brink. And his sister stood afar oil', 
to wit what would be done to him. And (lie 
daughter of Pharaoli came down to wash her- 
self at the river; and her maidens walked along 
by the river's side ; and when she saw the ark 
among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it. 
And when she had opened it, slie saw the child : 
and, behold, the babe wept. And she bad com- 

Iiassion on him, and said, This is one of the 
lebrcws' cliildrcn. Then said his sister to Pha- 
raoh's daughter, Shall I go and call to thee a 
nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse 
the child for thee? And Pharaoh's daughter 
said to her. Go. And the maid went and called 
the child's mother. And Pharaoh's daughter 
said unto Iicr, Take this child away, and nurse it 
for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the 
woman took the child, and nursed it. And tlie 
child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh's 
daughter, and he became her son. And slic 
called his name Moses : and she said. Because I 
drew him out of the water." The happy discov- 
ery and contrivance which restored the babe to 
tlie bosom of his fond mother, put him in safety, 
and caused him to grow up to receive the com- 



what .Tosephus and Philo relate, " that no one 
could sec Moses without being stniek with hi.-* 
beauty," and that " at his birth he had a more 
clegnnt and beautiful appearance than a common 
child." 



THE MAY M ITU SOME PEOPLE. 

Deacon S once employed a col)Ider to 

tukc a few stitches in a hoot, for wliich service he 
was asked half a dollar. The demand was con- 
sidered exorbitant, but the deacon was not a man 
to have trouble with his neighbor on a trifling 
mutter, so without a word of objection it was 
cancelled. — "All will come round right in the 
end," he said to himself, 

Next morning, the deacon, who was a farmer, 
was on his way to his field with oxen and plough, 
when the cobbler came out of his shop and ac- 
costed him. 

"Good morning, deacon. You're just the 
man I hoped to sec. The case is, I've hired the 
field yonder, and am going to sow it with wheat; 
hut being no farmer myself, I wish you would 
stop and give me something of an insight into 
the business." 

The other was about excuse himself, for he 



The deacon nuide no reply, but stood await- 
ing the question, " JIow much do you ask for 
your labor?" He waited in vain, however; the 
question was not asked. The other began to 
speak on different topics, and the farmer, un- 
willing to lose more time, turned and hurried 
away to where he had left his team, lie had 
gone some distance along the road, when a voice 
was heard calling : 

" Halloo, deacon. Hold on there a minute." 

The deacon turned his head, and his neighbor, 
the col)bler, beckoned him back. 

"He's just thought of it," said the deacon to 
himself, half impatient at being again stopped. 
" My triumph is likely to co.st about as much as 
it's worth ; hut I'll have it after all. Urge as ho 
may, I wont take a single dime." 

So saying, he secured his oxen to a post by 
the roadside, and ran hack as far as the wall, 
against the opposite side of which tlic cobbler 
was carelessly leaning. 

" Why, how you puff, deacon ! there's no spe- 
cial haste called for. I merely thought to ask 
wliethcr you don't imagine we shall have rain 
soon. You farmers pay more attention to these 
things than we mechanics do." 

The deacon coughed a full minute, and then 




grandeur of Kgypt. The Israelites established 
there had multiplied so fust that they began to 
appear formidable to the reigning king, and Pha- 
raoh, in consequence, deemed it important to Ids 
security to prevent the farther increase of their 
numbers; and, with that object in view, he or- 
dered the midwives who miglit be in attendance 
on Hebrew women to kill every male child, and 
the parents, in some cases, to murder their sons. 
It was after this that the wife of a man of the 
house of Levi, having given birth to a boy, and, 
with the natural feelings of a mother, admiring 
the goodly appearance of her offspring, was anx- 
ious to avert from him the cruel doom which had 
awaited his coming into existence. She, in con- 
sequence, concealed him for three months; but, 
at length, for her own safety, was obliged to re- 
move lum from her dwelling, when she placed 
him in a small ark by the side of the Nile. The 
Himply beautiful narrative given in the secoud 
chapter of Exodus, thus tells what occun'cd : 
"And there went a man of the house of Levi, 
and took to wife a daughter of Levi. And the 
woman conceived, and bare a son : and when 
she sasv that he was a goodly child, she hid 
him three months. When she could no longer 
bide him, she t«ok for him au ark of bulrushes, 



mauds of Ills God, to lead his brethren out of 
captivity, and, by his wisdom, to control refrac- 
tory and idolatrous spirits, which seemed impa- 
tiently to seek their own perdition. How im- 
mensely important, then, was the incident here 
pictured ! It was not merely that a race of hu- 
man beings might be released from intolerable 
bondage; but that millions then unborn, and 
lands then unknown, should prolitfrom the find- 
ing of the servant of God. To this day, in all 
civilized lands, both man and bea^^t rejoice in tlie 
interesting e\ent, while they rest from tlieir labor 
on the seventh day. Had Moses not been favor- 
ed by the Most High, had he not been the great 
captain he was, as the founder of the sabbatic 
institution (even if we suppose it a mere inven- 
tion of his own), he would have deserved ever- 
lasting gratitude, as a benefactor tu the world at 
large. The beauty and eondcsiciidiiig benevo- 
lence of the princess are strongly marked l)y the 
artist. Our artist has been very Imppy in his 
faces. All exhibit eager interest and feminine 
compassion, yet there is no sameness. We see 
the anxious sister ready to spring to the side of 
tlie princess, in the cause of an infant brother, 
and the whole spectacle is most gratifying. The 
countenance of the child is in accordance with 



felt particularly anxious to finish a piece ot 
l>loughing that day, which he could not if de- 
tained at all, when remembering the boot mend- 
ing, thought he ; " The affair is coming right so 
soon. Here is an opportunity for illustrating 
the Golden Kule, and returning good for evil. 
I will render the assistance he needs, and when 
asked what's to pay, will answer : ' Nothing, sir, 
nothing. I never make account of these little 
neighborly kindnesses.' That will remind him 
of yesterday." 

So the deacon readily consented to do as re- 
quested ; and going over to the field, commenced 
and finished sowing a bushel of grain ; scarcely 
thinking, meantime, of how his team was stand- 
ing idle in the cool of the day ; but glorying in 
anticipation of the smart his neighbor would 
suffer from the living coals about to be heaped 
upon his head. The employer, wlio, seated on 
a pile of stones in the centre of the field, had 
watched the process in silence, now rose to his 
feet, and very deliberately advanced towards the 
obliging farmer. 

" Now, for my revenge," thought the latter, 
seeing him about to speak ; but the other only 
carelessly remarked : " It isn't much to do a 
thing when one knows how." 



answered that he really "couldn't say, but it 
seemed pretty near cool enough for snow." And 
having given this opinion, he once more set his 
face farmward ; musing as he went, whether it 
might not have been well to have attached to the 
Golden Rule a modifying claiise, suited to deal- 
ing with such people as his neighbor of the awl 
and last. 

The deacon loves, to this day, to tell the story, 
and laugh over it; but he never fails to add; 
" Well, well, it ended just as it should ; inasmuch 
as I was wickedly calcidating and rejoicing over 
mi/ neitjhbor's kvmiliation ." — Western journal. 



PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITY. 

The responsibility of educating your children 
is one you cannot csciq)c. It is a task imposed 
on you by Di\ iin' Piovidence, and you may look 
witii contidcmc I'ur guidimce and aid. In short, 
you must educate your child, whether you choose 
It or not, for every action, every word and look, 
the very tone of your voice, and the round of or- 
dinaiy daily events, which form the moral at- 
mosphere in which he breathes, will influence 
him far more than the occasional lessons which 
he receives, ho\vcver excellent. — Rcjlector. 



GLEASON'S PICJTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



29 




TREDEEICK GLEASON, Pkoprietor. 

MATURIN M. BALLOU, Editor. 

CONTENTS OF OUR IVEXT AUMKER, 

" Annie Sehvyn, or the Lost Ring," a story, by H.\rriet 

N- IlATn.VWAT. 

" Mr. Bumble's Family, or Arriving at a Fortune," a 
story, by Geo. Canning Hill. 

"A Sketch from Life," by Mrs. E. Wellmont. 

" The Haunted Man," a story, by Stlv.vncs Cobb, Jr. 

"To a Friend on her Birthday," lines, by Caroline A. 
Hai-den. 

•'A Leaf from the Heart," vcifscs, by W. T. Hilsee. 

" Bu'ds," Unes, by J. H. Butler. 

'■ The Withered Oak,'" a poem, by John D. Johnson. 

" Ella," verses, by Henry J. Kilmer. 

"The Poet's Dream," line.';, by Mary N. Dearborn. 

" Castle Building," verses, by John Rdssel. 

ILLFSTEATIONS. 

We shall give a capital picture, faithfully drawn by our 
arti:jt, Mr. C.'iapin, representing Donelti's Wonderful exhi- 
bition, at the Astor Place Opera House, New York, of his 
trained Monkeys. Dogs, and Goats. A curiou.<) scene. 

A series of ^iews of Niagara Falls, of gi-cat beauty and 
accuracy, will also be given, embracing, first, a view of 
Niagara River, ttiken from Iris Island — one of the best 
scenes the spot affords ; second, the Little llapids ; third, 
the Niagara River, and American Falls, near Hog's Back; 
fourth, the American Falls, from the Canada shore ; fifth, 
the Falls at sunset, from the American shore; and last. 
Table llock. A most valuable and interesting series. 

Also a very admirable original series of views of the 
United States Mint, at Philadelphia, by our artist, Mr. 
DcvereaiiTy embracing, first, an exterior view of the Mint ; 
second, interior of the Adjusting Room ; third, interior of 
the Pressing and Milling Room ; fourth, interior of the 
general Pressing and Cutting Room ; fifth, a specimen 
of the Coin Press used for producing the die ; and sixth, 
the principal Steam Engine of the Mint. 

An engraving representing a vivid scene described in 
the first chapter of our new novelette, by Lieutenant Mur- 
ray, now publishing in tliese columns, entitled, " The 
Heart's Secret, or the Fortunes of a Soldier." 

A very accurate view of the new Court of Law, called 
Osgood IIjUI, at Toronto, Canada. 

A capital picture of French art, entitled the Rapids, 
giving a livid water scene. 



CURIOUS CASE. 

The Bath (Mc.) liirror of June 1st, states 
that a Mrs. Dan-ali, residing at AVinnegance, ap- 
parently died on the Saturday previous. Prep- 
aration.s were made for her funeral the Sunday 
following. On liandling the body it was discov- 
ered to be slightly warm, and there were other 
indications that, although the blood was not per- 
ceptibly in motion, she was yet alive. The lan- 
cet was applied, and blood flowed quite freely, 
and the application of a glass to the mouth and 
nostrils indicated a slight respiration. Up to 
Thm'sday her condition appeared to be improv- 
ing, but there were no signs of consciousness. 
Her body was to be kept until there were indica- 
tions of decay. 



Sad Mistake.— Two children of Mr. Fenni- 
more of Dubuque, Iowa, who were ill with the 
measles, were poisoned recently by a mistake of 
the druggist in putting up a prescription of mu- 
riate of morphia, instead of syrup of ipecac. 



Chinese Junk. — The Chinese junk Keying, 
which, it will be recollected, was exhibited in 
New York several years since, was recently sold 
at auction in London. 



Mlle. Rosa Jacques, the prima donna, is 
about to settle in Chicago, Jier services having 
been .secured by one of the churches in that city. 



GEMS FEOM SHAK3PEARE. 



— A woman's fitness comes by fits. 

— Easy it is of a cut loaf to steal a shive. 

— Winning will put every man into courage. 

— The world is still deceived with ornament. 

— I"ruits that blossom first, will first be ripe. 

— Love all ; tnist a few ; do wrong to none. 

— Good words arc better than bad strokes. 

— 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man. 

— Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. 

— Were man but content, he were perfect. 

— The nature of bad news infects the teller. 

— Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. 

— He is well paid that is well satisfied. 

— Unhecdful vows may heedfuUy be broken. 

— Scorn at first makes after love the more. 

— A good man's fortune may grow out at heels. 

— We cannot weigh our brother with ourself. 

— In time we hate that which we often fear. 

— 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus. 

— How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature. 



SU30IER. 

The " green and bowery " summer, so ardently 
sighed after, has come at last, and hot days, 
which in our chilly no-spring we voted impossi- 
bilities, have actually been realized. How the 
sun has revenged himself on unbelievers by pour- 
ing down floods of intolerable, scalding, scath- 
ing, inimitable splendor ! Straw hats have 
been no kind of protection ; gossamer jack«:;ts 
have afforded little relief, and white pantaloons 
have been but a slight alleviation of misery. If 
we have encountered sucli tropical visitations in 
June and July, what must be expected in the 
height of dog days in this city"? 

One of these hot days in the city puts a man's 
fortitude to the severest test. Awnings, water- 
carts, ices, fans and Venetian blinds are inade- 
quate defences with the thermometer at ninety 
and rising, amid a wilderness of brick and mortar, 
with walls and sidewalks to radiate tlie meridian 
lustre. Go to the Common on such a day, and 
your feet will be blistered in your pilgrimage in 
seaixh of coolness. And how discouraging it is 
to watch the pai'ched foliage, in hope of discover- 
ing indications of the presence of a light zephyr, 
and see not a leaf tremble on its slender stem. 

Then you gaze upon the sky ; not a shadow of 
a cloud ; but a vast concave arch of heated as- 
pect, rendered hot, as if by some invisible fur- 
nace. The water conveys no idea of coolness in 
such ; a falling fountain seems like boiling liquid, 
and you instinctively get out of the way of the 
drops, lest they scald you. You take a walk on 
one of the whaiwes, and gaze into the tide on 
which the sun's rays pour fiercely down, and 
wonder why you don't see lobsters, cod and 
halibut already boiled and floating up to tlie 
surface. 

Talk of a bath! You would as soon jump 
into a cauldron. Ton eat an ice, and you arc 
hotter for it — unless indeed it gives you a slight 
foretaste of cholera, by way of varying yoiu* en- 
joyments. After all, you dctei-mine to escape 
from the city into the country for a few days or 
houi's, and see what the temperament is there. 
Alas ! it is out of the frying-pan into the fire. 
Dusty woods, dusty trees, parching fields, gasp- 
ing cattle, withering grapes, sunshine, bm"iiing 
sunshine everywhere. But you lie down in some 
shady place, exasperated at the remark of a 
friend, who tells yon to "keep cool," and make 
up your mind to sufter with fortitude — the only 
philosopliical thing you can do. 

Perhaps your patience, like other manifesta- 
tions of virtue, brings its own rew^ard. The 
bright blue of the sky changes into a deer-skin 
hue, becomes gray, and finally leaden. The 
wind rises — clouds of dust obscm-e the atmos- 
phere — the birds rush wildly to their woodland 
coverts — a hea\'y- rumbling, like the muttering of 
a distant artillery train, is heard — then come pat- 
tering down the " gracious drops," hastily ac- 
cumulating into a pouring, drenching shower, — 
and what is more delicious than a summer shower 
at the»close of a hot day, even if accompanied by 
heavy thunder and sharp liglitning "? It braces 
up the unstrung nerves, and gives life and vigor 
to the mind. 

And when the temporary deluge is over — when 
the clouds roll away from before the face of the 
majestic sun — when the birds fly forth again in 
the bright an-, uttering their joyous songs of 
praise, then indeed do we appreciate and feel the 
full splendor and magnificence of summer ! then 
are we reconciled to the bm-ning heat, without 
which vegetation would not flourish in this our 
happy, though often chilly, northern clime. 



A aUEER FELLOW. 

The Boston Post tells of a man in Maine who 
kept a grocery store, and when he sold a pint or 
a half pint of rum, always put his thumb into 
the measui'e — an enormous large thuml) — and at 
the end of twenty years' practice, he estimated 
that he had sold his thumb for at least S5000, 
and had it left after all. What an old soaker it 
must be; fortunate that the Maine liquor law 
has been passed, if they have come to this. 



Lady Johnson, the only daughter of Lord 
William Campbell, who. was once provincial 
governor of South Carolina, died lately in Eng- 
land. 



Arbitrary Law. — Tlie Turkish government 
has issued a mandate forbiddhig the publication 
of unauthorized books. 



Minute. — The thickness of leaf gold is but 
the 282,000th part of an inch. 



OURSELVES. 

We had made arrangements for a large in- 
crease in our subscription list at the commence- 
ment, last week, of our new volume, but had not 
counted upon the degree of popularity to which 
the Pictorial has actually an'ived. Subscribers 
have poured in upon us from far and near ; lists 
of names, from towns where we have heretofore 
sent but one or two copies of our paper, have 
come in at such rate as to render a large increase 
of our regular edition necessary. Thus we go. 
Our efforts are appreciated — the Pictorial is 
really v.aluable, and people will have it. This is 
just what we wish. 

A paper like the Pictorial speaks for itself; it 
needs very little eulogium from us ; it needs but 
to be seen to be liked and appreciated. Tlie 
improvements which we have made from month 
to month, since its commencement, have been of 
a character to sm*prise and delight oiu'selves; 
and we know that the public appreciate these 
improvements, by the extraordinary patronage 
that is extended to us. But we shall not rest 
here ; we are resolved to live up to our never- 
varj'ing motto — e^-cchior ! 

Persons desirous to preserve the Pictorial for 
binding, and to possess it complete, will at once 
appreciate the necessity of subscribing at an 
early stage of the volume, that tliey need not 
miss any of the numbers ; and therefore let us 
impress it upon them to subscribe at once. En- 
close your S2 to the office of publication, and by 
return of mail you will receive the number of the 
paper, and thenceforth it will become a weekly 
visitant at your fireside. 

Persons desiring the past volumes bound, liave 
only to hand them in to our oflSce, where we 
will put them into a beautiful shape, with gilt 
back, gold edges, and illumined sides, for a 
charge of one dollar each. Take our advice, and 
preserve this illumined record of the times. 



A PATTERN YACHT. 

An English paper says Mr. Veal, a working 
shipwright of the Davenport dockyard, has 
made himself a sailing boat upon the lines sup- 
plied by Ml'. W. Rundell, also a shipwright in 
the dockyard, after, as nearly as possible, the 
America yacht. It was tried against the picked 
boats of the port, and it has beat them all. Her 
hidl and her sails were as much like the America 
as possible. The boats with which she raced 
carried mucli more canvass, and when going be- 
fore the wind got ahead of the America model 
boat. As soon as it became needful to close 
haul, she overhauled the whole of tliem, and 
won in gallant style. It appeared to surprise 
many practised boat-builders that a craft with 
such limited sails should have beaten their 
" crack boats :" but so it was. 



West Point Graduating Class. — The fol- 
lowing are the five names at the head of the list 
of the class just graduated at West Point: 1. 
Thomas L. Casey, of Rhode Island ; 2. Newton 
P. Alexander, of Tennessee ; 3. Geo. W, Rose, 
of New York ; 4. Geo. B. Mendell, of Pennsyl- 
vania; 5. Joseph C. Ives, of Connecticut. 



Back Numbers. — We can supply all the hack 
numbers or any one of them that may be desu'cd 
by our readers, from the commencement of the 
Pictorial, 



Convicted. — Scheidcl has been convicted of 
murdering a constable at St. Louis, and sen- 
tenced to ninety-nine years imprisonment in the 
penitentiary. 



A Century Plant. — Mr. Longworth, of Cin- 
cinnati, has in his garden a century plant which 
is expected to bloom in a few days. 



Brandy. — The Cincinnati Commercial says, 
hundreds of barrels of whiskv come tlicre daily, 
to go forth as brandy and other spiritual varieties. 



A Long Nap. — A girl 16 years of age, living 
at St. Malo, is said to have been asleep six weeks 
and witliout having had any nourishment. 



Died. — William King, the first governor of 
Maine, died at Bath recently, aged 84. 



Cheap. — Barnum pays a man a dollar a day 
and his board, for being 100 years old. 



Granite State. — Cass, Webster, Dickinson, 
Dix and Douglass, were born in New Hampshire. 




In this city, hy Rev. Mr. 5Iiner, Mr. George K. Smith to 
Miss Emma B. Benncr. 

By Rev. air. Huntington, Jlr. Heniy Brackett to Miss 
Sanih S. Holden. 

By Rev. Mr. Street«r, Mr. Daniel Wise, Jr. to Miss Sa- 
brina E. Herpcy. 

By Rev. Mr. Flint, Mr. TTovey K. Clarke, of MarshaU, 
Mich., to Miss Martha A. Upham, of Cliarlestown. 

By Rev. Dr. Young, Sir. Tiiomas J. Allen to Miss Caro- 
hne Ealch Williams. 

At East Cambridge, by Rev. Mr. Holland, Mr. Andrew 
li. Perkins, of Mcdibrd, to Miss Mary W. Rindge. 

At Salem, by Rev. Mr. Boyden, Capt. Thomas R. Lewis 
to Miss Lydia S. Pickering. 

At Andovcr. by Rev. Mr. Taylor, "Wm. A. Dodge, Esq., 
of Barre, Vt-, to Miss Jennie Green Abbott. 

At Newburyport, Mr. Charles W. Gumey to Miss Char- 
lotte A. Barrett. 

At Sudbury, by Rev. Mr. Crane, of Weston, Mr. P. B. 
Dow, of La^vrence, to Miss Charlotte Rice. 

At Exeter, N. H., John W. Bolting, Esq., of Philadel- 
phia, to Miss Amelia M. Xahar Howard, of Boston. 

At Clarcmont, N. H., Mr. Arthur W. Windett, of Chica- 
go, 111., to Miss Maria E. Kimball, of Bradford, Ms. 

At Antrim, N. H.. Mr. Moses Sargent, aged 74, to Misa 
IJlalie Vamum, aged 15, both of Candia. 

At Portland, Me., Dr. Charles U. Osgood to Miss Annie 
W. Appleton. 

At Washington, D. C, Cnustin Browne, Esq., of New 
York, to Miss Kate Kveieth Maynadier. 




In this city, Mrs. Abigail II. Edwards, 31 ; Frederick W., 
sou of Mr. George Phippeo, 2 mos. ; Miss Ellen Davidson ; 
Chary B., daughter of Mr. E. M. Chandler, 20 mos. ; Mrs. 
Elizabeth A. Hastings, 29 ; ML<;s Hannah Greenough, 76 ; 
Capt. Samuel Ayres, 78. 

At Boxhury, Mr. Charles Grant, of New York, 26. 

At Charlestown, Mrs. Lucv Perkins. 62. 

At Chelsea, .1. Theodore 11. Wheeler, 11. 

At Cambridge, Miss Harriet Clark, 53- 

At Salem, Mr. George West, 42 ; Mr. Ja's Thornton. 90. 

At Danvcrs, Mrs. Nelly ^Y, Osborn. 

At Lowell, Mrs. Mary Beals, 54. 

At South Weymouth, Mr. Alviu Reed, 46. 

At Newburyport, Mr. Robert S. Lane, 43. 

At West Ne'wbury, Mrs. Mary A. Todd, of Boston, 22. 

At Ashbumhara, Mr. Cyrus Fairbanks, 100. 

At Taunton, Miss Ann E. Lindsey, 21. 

At South Dartmouth, Capt. Patrick Gerry, 85. 

At Springfield, Mr. Walter Stebbins, 84. 

At Pittsfield, Mrs. Catharine Hunton. 

At Kecne, N. H., Aaron Appleton, Esq., 84. 

At East Sanbomton, N. H., Mrs. Clara Blodgett, 35. 

At Kennebunk, Me., Mr. Cyi-us K. Thompson, printer. 

At Portland, Me.. Capt. Seth Bird, 79. 

At Barre, "Vt., Mrs. Alice J. Tilcston, 33. 

At Providence, R. I., Mrs. Aniey Richmond, 68- 

At Windsor, Ct., Mrs. Anna A. BolJes, of Jlilford, IMs., 29 . 

At New York, Mr. Patrick Brady, 105. 

At Leicester, N. Y., Mr. Isaac Chase, 96. 

At Bethany, Pa., Mr. Arthur H. Otis, 26. 

At Mobile, La,, Miij. Thomas Sturtevant, 64. 



A mmwmw mmmim, 



LITERARY WEEKLY JOURiSTAL. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL 

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30 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DllAWING PJ)0:M COMPANION. 



[U'rlttcn for Oleanon'B IMctoriul.] 

THE VISIT: 

— OK — 

THE ILL-llEOULATED FAMILY. 

BY MRS. M. E. nODlNSOK. 

"I AM truly glftd to sec you, Mrs, Thomns/' 
resumod Mrs. Fay, nftur the first words of wel- 
coiUG liad l)cen said, "and slmll insist ujion your 
Bpciidiny: the day witli nic." 

" I will, with pleasure," answered the visitor, 
as she gave her bonnet and shawl into the liands 
of her hostess. " I wished much to sec you be- 
fore leaving the city, for once, if you recollect, 
we were very good friends." 

"And arc so now, I hope," added Mrs. Fay, 
with a smile. "Absence, on my part, has not 
succeeded in conquering old fricndsliips, and your 
face strongly reminds me of my younger days. 
"Wc are happiest in youth, after all ; what a pity 
we cannot always remain young." 

" I think I shall be obliged to differ with you 
a little on tluit subject ; wc will leave it, however, 
for future discussion. I have seen you but twice 
since your wedding day, when you entered the 
pale of matrimony a laughing, happy creature, 
anticipating notliing but happiness and sunshine 
in the future." 

" Yes," sighed Mrs. Fay; "but the experi- 
ence of many years has shown me the fallacy of 
such sentiments." 

" Wliy, you do not regret the step, do you ?" 
" Not exactly that ; but then one has so many 
cares, and children arc such a trial." 

" The latter require much attention, I will 
allow, and on the whole are rather troublesome 
comforts ; but I believe a mother is amply re- 
paid for all her care and anxiety respecting her 
children, when they reach an age to be capable 
of being companions, and share in her joys and 
sorrows." 

"I have four children," resumed Mrs. Fay. 
"Ellen is sixteen, Henry twelve, Anna ten, and 
the youngest four. The boy and Anna quarrel 
all the time ; Ellen has her own way in every- 
thing, while the youngest has been babied so 
much that he is quite as bad as the rest." 

" But do you manage them right?" earnestly 
inquired her friend. 

" I try to correct them when they are Avrong, 
but it does no good, and sometimes I think the 
best way is to let them entirely alone. I can 
truthfully say that they are no comfort to me 
whatever. It is not pleasant to tell such a story ; 
but as you cannot fail to observe the truth of 
what I say, it is just as well." 

At this juncture, and before the lady could re- 
ply, the door was thrown violently open, and a 
girl, which was evidently Anna, rushed into the 
room, threw her bonnet nidely upon the carpet, 
and began to hum snatches of a song, taking no 
notice of Mrs. Thomas. 

" Anna, my dear, do you not see I have com- 
pany V said her mother. " Come and speak to 
the lady." 

" Yes, come ; I would like to talk with you," 
added the lady, in a winning voice. " I have a 
little girl about your age." 

Anna turned slowly, and with a bold stare 
scrutinized Mrs. Thomas from head to foot, and 
then, as if satisfied with the result, without a 
word stalked out of the room. 

" That's not the way to behave!" exclaimed 
Mrs. Fay. " But if you will go, come back and 
get your bonnet. That is a fair sample," she 
added, in a lower tone ; "two "or three times a" 
day I pick up bonnets, shawls, rubbers, etc.; but 
of what use is it, as they are thrown down again 
immediately." 

The girl was just closing the door, but as she 
happened to want her bonnet before joining a 
troop of girls in the street, she condescended to 
obey. 

" If you had not been here, she would not have 
done as much as that," added the mother, as she 
arose and closed the street door, which had been 
slamming for the last fifteen minutes. " No one 
thinks of closing a door in the house ; but I sup- 
pose it is my destiny to wait upon others, and I 
may as well submit with a good grace." 

" Your children arc old enough, with one ex- 
ception, to wait upon yon," was the quiet reply. 
" Perhaps so ; but I have given that up long 
ago." 

Mrs. Thomas changed the subject, and con- 
versed for an hour upon things which their long 
fleparation had rendered interesting. 

" You will excuse me," said Mrs i ay, abrupt- 
ly, after a short pause ; " but as my girl left me 



two days ago, and I have been unalile to procure 
another to take her place, I am obliged to sec to 
my work myself, and must accordingly leave 
you to amuse yourself as you can." 

" But why not let nie go, too '; perhaps I can 
assist you," replied the lady. " I can at least 
look after your little boy." 

" Why, bless yon, he wont let you come with- 
in a yard of him; he is uncommonly bashful. 
However, I nniy find something for you to do, if 
you will overlook any little want of ceremony." 

" Certainly," was the polite reply, and follow- 
ing her hostess, the lady groped her way down 
the dark stairway and entered the kitchen. 

But her countenance fell as she stepped over 
the threshold. She thought she had never seen 
a more disordered room, or so many unnecessary 
articles collected into such a small space. A 
large dog lay stretched out in the centre of tlie 
room, which Mrs. Fay soon sent growling under 
the table ; a noisy parrot, several tamo white 
rabbits, and two cages of canaries, completed the 
live stock of the apartment. A pile of unironed 
clothes lay in one clmir, and a very handsome 
lamp mat under a dirty nsipkin in another, while 
the only two empty ones had been inverted and 
substituted for horses by some of the children. 

One was handed the lady, who mechanically 
drew her dress about her, and adroitly changed 
it for the other, as a piece of bread and butter, 
which still adhered to the surface, did not pos- 
sess sufficient inducement for her to sit upon it. 
The tabic cover had been pushed off, and the 
aforesaid large dog found no fault with it as abed. 
A couple of pokers, shovel and tongs to match, 
a switch and a broom had undisputed possession 
of the space in front of the cooking stove, while 
upon the latter sat a coffee pot, two flat irons, a 
tea kettle, a dirty looking dish, and a curling 
iron, encircled by a stream of ashes. One of the 
curtains was sadly torn, and hung in a kind of 
festoon across the window, which gave it a very 
picturesque appearance ; while upon the seat 
were scattered hair brushes, pins, combs, curl 
papers, not forgetting part of an apple, and ma- 
ny dried bits of cake. 

Mi's. Thomas glanced at the objects we have 
enumerated, and then took a cursory look at the 
wet sink which stood in a corner. We shall not 
attempt to descriljc it, but if the reader will please 
endeavor (judging by what we have said before) 
to imagine what was in and about it, they are at 
liberty to do so. Suffice it that one glance was 
sufficient for tlie visitor, and will be for us. 

" My conscience !" cried Mrs. Fay. " Wliat a 
bedlam of a place the children have made of this 
room ! Why, would you believe it ? No longer 
ago than last night I swept it all over myself, 
and now who would know if?" 

" Who, indeed ?" thought her companion. 

" It does no good for me to try, for it is labor 
lost. Do sit down, if you can find a place, while 
I hunt up the children. I wonder where Tom- 
my is V she added, stepping to the door, and 
screaming the boy's name with all the strength 
of her lungs. 

But no Tommy appeared ; all was silent. 

" I wonder wliere the little plague is 1 if he is 
out of my sight, some mischief is brewing." 

At that moment a terrific ci"ash was heard in 
an adjoining closet. The two hastily sprang to 
their feet, and Mrs. Fay opened the door. There 
lay the missing Tommy screaming and kicking, 
with the contents of ajar of pickles and one of 
preserves streaming over him. Nor was this all : 
the chair and cricket which he had used in climb- 
ing, had slipped and fallen upon him, thereby 
causing him to kick violently and break a bottle 
filled with oil, which happened to be standing 
near. The three liquids — oil, vinegar and syrup 
— had no objection to a closer acquaintance, and 
joined currents. 

Having satisfied herself that he was not hurt, 
Mrs. Fay shook Tommy violently, changed his 
dress, tied him into a chair, and placed him near 
Mrs. Thomas, while she tried to repair the mis- 
chief which had been done. The lady, however, 
felt obliged to make the distance greater between 
herself and the child, who amused himself in a 
way not at all to her liking. 

This proceeding was no sooner perceived than 
he sent up another scream. Mrs. Fay flew to 
liini, called him a " darling," and wondered 
what was tlie matter. Tommy made no reply, 
but pointing significantly to the lady, who had 
the temerity to offend him, cried louder than 
ever. 

His mother looked from one to the other, 
while the lady remained silent, and seemed some- 
what perplexed. After a moment's pause, the 
former stepped to a closet and brought out a 



large titick of candy, which she placed in the 
outstretched hands of the diiid, with t!ic remark 
that she " believed the ]joor little fellow was hurt 
inwardly." Mrs, Thonuis Hmilcd, the outcry 
ceased as if by magic, and the mother Jigain 
commenced to disencumber the stove and make 
a fire. Just then the eldest boy entered. 

" I am glad you have come, Hcniy," said she. 
"1 want you to go to the market and get some 
steak ; make haste, for it is very late." 

Butthelioy renuuncd in his seat. Mrs. Thom- 
as could not help showing some astonishment, 
as his mother, who by this time was lieatcd and 
flurried, demanded sharply " why he did not 
obey ?" 

" Because I don't want to," he returned. " I 
went yesterday, and it's Anna's turn to-day." 

" That's a fib, Mr. Henry ; for I've been every 
day this week !" retorted the girl, who was just 
at his heels. 

" Silence !" exclaimed the parent, who, in the 
presence of her friend felt obliged to make somo 
show of authority. " One of you go, it makes 
no difference which, and come back as soon as 
possible." 

" But I sha'n't go, for Anna's the best able !" 
replied Henry, quite firmly, and unabashed by 
the rebuking glances of Mrs. Thomas. " She's 
been in the street all the morning, and hasn't 
been studying as I have. Make her go." 

" She can't do it, nor you either, Mr. Impu- 
dence ! Been at school indeed ! Who played 
marbles all the forenoon in the court ?" was the 
angry rejoinder; and the girl ran up the stau'S 
into the parlor, followed by her brother. 

" You see just how it is !" exclaimed the mo- 
ther, in a despairing voice. "I am a slave to 
my children, and they refuse to do me the small- 
est favor. Do you blame me for being discour- 
aged '?" 

" I fear you have some cause to be so, my 
friend ; but are you sure that the fault is not 
your own '? Why not insist upon being obeyed V 
asked Mi's. Thomas, seriously. 

" They are past my control," sighed the 
mother. 

" But it is never too late." 

" The three oldest are too large for me to man- 
age now ; they are stronger, physically, than 
myself, and reasoning has no effect at all. But 
there is no use in talking; I shall have to get 
the dinner myself, and may as well go first as 
last." 

" Do not trouble yourself for me ; I am not at 
all particular, and as you have had so many an- 
noyances this morning, I would neither go nor 
send for anything," said Mrs. Thomas. 

"I have a great mind not to," was the re- 
joinder. " As you are an old friend, I wont 
stand upon ceremony, but just get a picked up 
dinner." And saying this, Mrs. Fay untied the 
boy, and requested her friend to keep .an eye on 
him while she went in search of something where- 
with to kindle the fire. The lady willingly as- 
sented, though fearing, from former demonstra- 
tions, that she might get more than she bargained 
for ; but by dint of coaxing, she succeeded in 
keeping him quiet. 

While thus engaged, she could not help think- 
ing of the change which years had wrought in 
the friend of her youth. Formerly she was very 
neat in her personal appearance, but now it was 
the reverse. Her dress, which was not quite 
whole, nor remarkably clean, was slovenly put 
on, while a three cornered handkerchief took the 
place of a collar about her neck ; she was walk- 
ing around slip-shod, and a cap, which once 
claimed to be white, trimmed with a smoky 
colored ribbon, was put on awiy. 

The two had once been intimate friends, but 
the marriage of both, and the great distance be- 
tween their respective homes, combined with 
other disadvantageous circumstances, had broken 
off their intercourse. Mrs. Fay, however, was 
tnily glad to see her friend ; she was a pleasant 
dispositioned woman, not wanting in good sense 
or intelligence, and with but one serious fault ; 
she was much too yielding, possessed but little 
firmness of purpose, and by degrees had lost all 
influence over her children, who soon saw their 
advantage, and were not long in obtaining a 
complete mastery. Her wishes were disregard- 
ed, her commands unheeded, her threats laughed 
at, and however impertinent in character their 
language might bc.it could only be resented; 
for, were a struggle for authority commenced, 
they were sure to gain the victory and have their 
own way. 

The father, wdio was wholly devoted to his 
business, saw his children but little ; and so long 
as they did not materially interfere with his com- 



fort while at liome, seldom noticed them, save to 
remark that they were " a great tnjuhle," which 
observation his wife most fully concurred in. 
When she coinpluincd of their disobedience, and 
urged him to interpose Ids authority, he would 
adci that she could " d(j with them as she pleased, 
but on no account to bother him with such small 
mattei's ; as his business demanded all Iiis time 
and attention, he did not wish to have his mind 
disturbed by trifles." 

This no douI)t had a tendency to discourage 
bis wife, who found it the most quiet if not the 
best way to make no resistance, and let things 
go on as- smoothly as they might. Although not 
naturally of untidy habits, yet her attempts at 
something like neatness had been so often over- 
ruled that she had imperceptibly become carelesa 
and less inclined to effort. 

Mrs. Thomas sighed, and doubted not that 
Mrs. Fay liad spoken truthfully, when she avcired 
that she had " no comfort with her children." 
While thus engaged in reflection, the hostess had 
been preparing the "picked uj) dinner," and 
they now took seats at the table. The food 
which was placed before them did not look very 
inviting, and the cloth {judgiiig from sundry evi- 
dences) Iiad obviously pcrfonned duty a long 
time ; but Mrs. Thomas heroically swallowed a 
a few mouthfuls of the thin, unpalatable soup, 
and then tiied to eat a piece of the bumed, dried 
bread. It was something of a failure, notwith- 
standing, and she soon laid it aside, together 
with some quarters of half stewed apple, which 
Mrs. Fay called " sauce." 

" You sec I have treated you like one of the 
family," said the latter. " I used to put myself 
to considei'able trouble when I had a friend to 
dinner, but now I think it is just as well to put 
on what you may happen to have. Have a piece 
of this cake ? I'm afraid if you don't take it now, 
the children will get it all. I don't often make 
pies, it is so much work; and as for puddings, 
wc think they are not healthy. Henry," she add- 
ed, " don't be so selfish ; three pieces arc quite 
enough." 

Mrs. Thomas had not failed to observe that 
Henry and Anna had helped themselves to what- 
ever they liked, and were now striving to see 
which should fare the best ; to the imminent 
hazard of overturning the castor, and doing some 
damage with their forks, which were all the while 
upraised. 

Having ineffectually tried to restore order, the 
mother and her guest retreated to the parlor, 
leaving them to "quarrel it out," as the former 
observed. 

" This is my daughter Ellen," she added, as 
upon their entrance a young lady was discover- 
ed lying at full length upon a sofa. Without 
rising, she nodded familiarly in answer to the 
salutation of Mrs. Thomas. 

" I wish you and Anna would wash the dish- 
es," continued Mrs. Fay. "I am tired, and 
would like to talk with this lady, who is an old 
friend." 

" Anna may, if she likes, but I don't wish to 
soil my hands in the water ; besides, I am going 
to walk, and shall want my dress and muslins 
pressed out," answered the dutiful daughter, with 
a long yawn. 

" The sooner you arc out of the way the bet- 
ter," observed her mother, and excusing herself 
to her guest, went below, smoothed the dress, 
and after much time had been spent in searching 
for a glove, which was eventually found under a 
bed, and a sunshade which had been rather un- 
ceremoniously tumbled into a basket of soiled 
linen, her toilet was completed, and she left the 
house, it must be confessed, much to the satis- 
faction of Mrs. Thomas. 

After her departure, the latter, presuming upon 
long acquaintance, earnestly endeavored to con- 
vince Mrs. Fay of the error into which she had 
fallen ; as a friend, she warned her of the soitow 
and disappointment wdiich would most surely re- 
sult from such a course, and urged her, for the 
best interests of her children, if not for her own 
sake, to make one more effort. 

But she was unsuccessful ; for, although Mrs. 
Fay admitted the truth of her remarks, she had 
fallen into a kind of apathy respecting the sub- 
ject, and repeatedly said " it was of no use," at 
the same time thanking her friend for her kind 
wishes and the interest which she had manifested. 
The latter left at the close of the day, regret- 
ting that the visit from which she anticipated so 
much pleasure had not been one of unalloyed 
happiness; but from that time, felt an increased 
satisfaction in the society of her own obedient, 
affectionate children, and perceived still gieater 
the advantages of a well-regulated household. 



GLEASON'S PICTOPdAL DRAWlNCx ROOM COMPANION. 



31 



ENCOUNTER WITH A BOA. 

Ml-. Miison, in his recently published work, 
"Pictui-es in Mexico," rehitcs the following cir- 
cumstance, which occuiTed to him while loiter- 
ing along a shady path in the forest : " I stepped 
aside for a moment to admire a rich tuft of pur- 
ple flowers, my mule having plodded on about 
eight or ten yards ahead, when, as I turned from 
the flowers towards the path, a sensation as of a 
flasli of lightning struck my sight, and I saw a 
brilliant and powciful snake winding its coils 
round tlie head and body of the poor mule. It 
was a large and magnificent boa, of a black and 
yellow color, and it had entwined the poor beast 
so firmly in its folds that ere he had time to utter 
more than one feeble cry he was crushed and 
dead. Tlie perspiration broke out on my fore- 
head as I thought of my narrow escape ; and 
only remaining a moment to view the movements 
of the monster as he began to uncoil himself, I 
rushed through the brushwood, and did not con- 
sider myself safe until I was entirely free of the 
forest." 

RELEASED. 

Mr. John Cunningham, tlie American engi- 
neer, whose imprisonment in Cuba has been the 
subject of so much comment, has been released. 
He was imprisoned in September last, for being 
engineer of a train which ran oft' the track. The 
Matanzas courts piled up fines, costs and charges 
upon him at so round a rate, that he abandoned 
all ideas of ever regaining liberty. An appeal 
was taken to the superior court at Havana, where 
the sentence below was mitigated, so far as to 
order the discharge of the prisoner as soon as 
jail fees and some $85 fines should be paid. The 
jail fees, amounting to S800, had been paid, but 
the fines, for lack of means had not, when a sud- 
den mandate arrived from government, com- 
manding the immediate release of the prisoner. 
It is supposed that this order was in consequence 
of the interference of the United States goveni- 
ment. 



THE EGG TRADE. 

The New York Express says that from one to 
two hundred barrels of eggs are daily received in 
that city by the New York and Erie railroad, and 
probably as many more by the Hudson river and 
other roads leading to that city. It also noticed 
the arrival of 100 baiTels per steamer Empire 
City from New Orleans, and says this is a curi- 
ous fact in the history of the egg trade. Cincin- 
nati eggs travelling to New Orleans, a distance 
of 1500 miles, over the Gulf of Mexico, and up 
the Atlantic to the city, 1500 miles more, con- 
Btitutes one of the wonders of modern commerce. 
Such a voyage was hardly contemplated by the 
Ohio hens when they cackled so proudly over 
their productions. 



HEALTH. 

The existence of cholera, on the water-courses 
of the West, will naturally suggest preventive 
means to avoid it, in all our large cities, particu- 
larly Boston — and among these means none are 
found to be so effective as cleanliness, a free use 
of water and of lime — the bucket and the broom 
— and a total abolishment of the accumulated 
animal filth, that is apt to abound in certain lo- 
calities. The Boston Board of Health should 
take care of all this ; and the other authorities 
will co-operate to secure this desirable precau- 
tion, to continue to Boston the merited fame of 
the healthiest city in the Union. 



ENGLISH NUNNERIES. 

The ladies of England manifest considerable 
alarm on the subject of the Catholic nunneries, 
which have increased, arc increasing, and as they 
think, ought to be diminished. The ladies of 
Gravesend have sent a petition to the queen, 
praying for the official inspection of the obnox- 
ious establishments. A similar petition has been 
forwarded from the ladies of Chatham, the sig- 
natures to both numbering nearly seven thou- 
sand. An opinion seems to exist, that practices 
of an unla^vful nature prevail in nunneries. 



A Lady FRIGHTENED TO Death. — TheEock- 
ingham, Va., Register states that ]Mi-s. Districk, 
\v\fe of Mr. Jacob Districk, residing near Mount 
Crawford, in that county, was frightened to death 
by a tree-frog, which her daughter threw upon 
her lap, which commenced jumping up towards 
her face, and so frightened her that she died in 
two or three days. 



Hard.— A hard life, that of a cobbler — forever 
straggling to make both ends meet. 



lUawsik ffi>ail)mngs. 

There is not yet a theatre in tlie whole State 
of Texas. 

Congress has spent another week doing 
nothing. 

Alexander Bell, of New Jersey, was robbed at 
Panama of $3000. 

Tlie California papers abound with details of 
frightful outrages and murders. 

General Pierce is about five feet eleven inches 
in height, and finely proportioned. 

Never within the last twenty years has politics 
been so near a dead calm. 

Dr. Abernethy shot M. D. Hoodinpile, lately, 
at Eayettcville, Ala. 

Mr. Edward C. Mayo, a brother of Mrs. Gen- 
eral Scott, died at Richmond, a few days since. 

The Franklin House, at Cincinnati, has been 
sold to a gentleman of Columbus for $25,000. 

In Alabama there is every prospect of a flour- 
ishing and abundant crop. 

Ml-. Johnston, an artist of Cincinnati, has gone 
East to paint a likeness of General Pierce. 

A Mrs. Garland has been arrested near Jones- 
boro', Tcnn., for the murder of a Mi-. Hyder. 

A little child, aged about two years, was lately 
run over in Northampton Sti'cet, and severely 
injured. 

Two hundred and foiiy-six persons have been 
run over, during the past twelve months, in New 
York city. 

Money, on first-class security, can be obtained 
in ail the Atlantic cities at 5 per cent., and even 
less. 

A schooner of 150 tons is to leave Port Stan- 
ley, on Lake Erie, for Australia direct, in Au- 
gust. She is to be fitted in yacht style. 

It is said that a military command has been 
offered to General Changaraier, by one of the 
South American republics. 

Officer Ridgely, wdio recently killed the slave 
he was arresting at Columbia, Pa., is lying hope- 
lessly ill. 

A fair plaintiff in La Grange, Ky., has recov- 
ered a verdict of $4000 in a suit for " breach of 
promise." 

The time of passage to San Francisco has been 
reduced to 24 daj's. In a year or t^vo it will 
probably be done in 15 or 18 days. 

Hon. William King died at Bath. Me., on the 
17th ult., aged 84 years. He was the first gover- 
nor of Maine, and has been an eminent politician. 
Capt. Colby, an English officer, was recently 
killed by a tiger which he was hunting, in 
Bengal. 

Enos Humphreys, principal dyer in the woolen 
factory near Staunton, Va., fell into a vat of hot 
liquid, and survived but a few hours. 

A modem critic says, that most men have, 
like Achilles, a vulnerable spot — but it is in the 
head and not in the heel. 

A man named James Tobin lately fell out of 
the third story of a building in Theatre Alley, 
and was severely injured. 

Population of Pennsylvania increased in ten 
vears from 1,724,031 "to 2,311,786, and New 
York from 2,418,957 to 3,097,844. 

The cholera attacked a train on the plains, 
hound for California ; ten sickened in the morn- 
ing, and six of them died before night. 

The three balls usually prefixed to the shops of 
pa\Mibrokers are said to indicate that it is two to 
one that the things pledged are never redeemed. 
A daughter of Prince Jerome Bonaparte is a 
nun in the convent Les Oiseaux. She recently 
invited the Arab chiefs to visit the convent, and 
they were very much pleased with their reception. 
A consignment of charcoal iron, from the 
Acadian {Nova Scotia) Iron Works, has been 
received at Liverpool, being the first importation 
of that nature from the colony. 

They are detemiined to have the ocean penny 
postage. A large meeting at London lately 
adopted resolutions recommending it earnestly. 
Elihu Burritt spoke on the occasion. 

Tlie line of stages from Indianola to San An- 
tonio is now running through tri-weekly. This 
change is pretty conclusive evidence of the great 
increase of travel in that direction. 

On the 100th exhibition of Albert Smitli's 
panorama of the ascent of Mont Blanc, recently, 
he presented every lady of the crowded assembly 
present with a bouquet. 

An attempt is to be made to set the Chinese 
in California to cultivating tea. This is better 
than driving them away, and may turn out to be 
as productive a mine as the gold itself. 

The silly custom of withdrawing the glove 
from the hand, or saying, "Excuse my glove," 
if it is not taken off when people shake hands, is 
getting out of usage, we are glad to see. 

A young man, employed in a tobacco factory, 
became deranged, a few days since, at Jersey 
city, through ^e influence of the fumes of that 
material. 

The venerable mother of tlie Governor of 
Hungary is accompanied by her two daughters, 
their husbands, and their nine children. The 
mother of Kossuth is of small stature, and about 
seventy years of age. 

Italy is emphatically a land of music, and the 
phenomena the art there presents, afford ample 
evidence that its ti-ue origin and object is feeling. 
Public enthusiasm there sustains and exalts 
music. 



Jonign iilliscellaug. 

Rome has proved a quarry for the world. 

Catrigny, the well-known comic actor, is dead. 

The great exhibition was to open at Cork on 
the 10th. 

At the last accounts, the fighting still contin- 
ued at Algeria. 

Tlie French fleet lying at Palermo, was to 
have sailed for Algeria on tlie 20th of May. 

A full amnesty has been granted to all desert- 
ers from the Frencli merchant service. 

An aeronaut named Goalston, was killed at 
Manchester, England, lately, by falling from his 
balloon. 

The notorious Madame Lafarge, who has been 
for some years confined in a maison de sante at 
Rcmy, has received a free pardon. 

The Hobart Town Gazette, of January 2d, 
just come to hand, offers .£2 reward for the ap- 
prehension of Meagher ! 

Mr. Birch, editor of The World newspaper, has 
been sentenced to one year's imprisonment for 
bis libel on Mi'S. French, a widow lady. 

A perfect system of electric telegraph commu- 
nication is now in use between the various offices 
witliin the Bank of England. 

According to the last report of the university 
commissioners, a student's tobacco bill often 
amounts to £40 a year. 

A woman was sold in Nottingham market- 
place, a few days since, by her husband, for a 
shilling, including a new rope, value sixpence, 
which was attached to her neck ! 

In Great Britain, for the half year ending De- 
cember 31, 1851, the number of railway passen- 
gers carried was 47,509,392. The number killed 
was 113, or one in about 400,000. 

A railway locomotive recently ran off without 
an engineer, near Shrewsbury, England, and 
after running a distance, at the rate of seventy 
miles an hour, overtook a train, and sma.shcd 
up two passenger cars, and injured a number of 
persons. 

The opera in London is in a very languishing 
condition. Lumley has been unable to pay his 
artists, and a regular row occurred recently 
among them, in which the manager had to es- 
cape over the roof, and the police were obliged 
to interfere. 

The British West India Mail Company an- 
nounce their intention of commencing in August 
next, to run a fast steamer between Savannah, 
Georgia, and Nassau, Saguc, Jamaica and Cha- 
gres, expecting thereby to seciu*e a portion of 
the California traffic. 



Joker's BuLigct. 



Sanbs of (&olir. 



He that hath no money needeth no purse. 

.... Many preach, and but few practise what 
they preach ; for they never apply theh* sermons 
to themselves. 

.... Never pride yourself on ha^^ng done a 
particularly wise thing ; it may hereafter show 
itself to have been particularly foolish. 

.... Men often are not aware of what se^^ere 
and untiring labor they are capable, until they 
have made trial of their strength. 

.... This may be said for love — that if you 
, strike it out of the soul, life would be insipid, 
and our being but half animated. 

.... That calm and elegant satisfiiction which 
the vulgar call melancholy, is the true and 
proper delight of men of knowledge and virtue. 

.... I tell you what it is — a man feels some- 
thing like a man, who can walk the streets jing- 
ling a spare dollar in his pocket, knowing that 
he does not owe a red cent in the world. 

.... Self-knowledge is one of the most diffi- 
cult acquisitions in life. Many a man is an ass 
for half a century without discovering that bray- 
ing is not eloquence. 

.... One of the greatest evils of the world is, 
men praise rather than practise virtue. The 
praise of honest industry is on everj' tongue, but 
it is very rare that the worker is respected more 
than the drone. 

.... Literary society, unless modified by 
knowledge of the world or generous feeling, is 
far from desirable. Professed authors who over- 
estimate their vocation, are too full of themselves 
to be agreeable companions. 

.... How nobly music mingles with the lives 
of the good and great ! In early youth, the 
author of the Reformation endeavored to support 
himself by singing in the streets. This he 
quaintly calls "bread music." 

.... Education should inspire a profound love 
of trutli, and teach the process of investigation. 
A sound logic — by which, we mean the science 
and art which instructs us in tlie true laws of 
reasoning and evidence — is an essential part of a 
good education. 

.... The contemplation of disti-ess softens the 
mind of man, and makes the heart better. It 
extinguishes the seeds of en-vy and ill-will to- 
wards mankind, coiTCCts the pride of prosperity, 
and beats down all that insolence which is apt 
to get into the minds of the fortunate. 

.... The relation of walking to thought is 
remarkable. More than one distinguished writer, 
of whose habits literary biography has informed 
us, found the influx of ideas or the fiow^ of ex- 
pi-ession more ready and salient when under the 
influence of this movement. 



Wliy is a dinner like Spring 1 Because a sin- 
gle stvallow never makes it. 

A New York preparation for the growth of the 
hair is called the " Kathairon," Cai-kair-on is 
an ominous title, certainly. 

A barrel of liquor was seized in Portland, last 
week, marked " prime pork." It is supposed to 
be a portion of the " striped pig." 

Mrs. Partington asks, very indignantly, if the 
bills before Congress are not counterfeit why 
there should be such difficulty in passing them ? 

Colonel Christy asks — Why is the stern of a 
vessel leaving port like an uncivil gentleman ? 
and answers — Because it never returns a how. 

The Ohio Statesman says Gen. Pierce was a 
soldier in the war of 1812. As he was then but 
eight years old, he must have been attached to the 
h]fant-v\. 

N. P. Willis supposes the West India Islands 
to have taken the name of the Antilles from the 
legions of ants, and consequently ant-hills which 
pervade them. 

Wanted — A thin man, wdro is used to the busi- 
ness of collecting, to crawl through keyholes and 
find debtors who are " never at home." Salary, 
nothing the first year, to be doubled each year 
after. 

Tlie man who was opposed to newspapers, 
paid one hundred dollars last week for a galvan- 
ized wail 1 In going to Dayton, he always takes 
the canal, no. ing aware that there is any rail- 
road buCt on that route. 

"Tom," said a man to his friend, a day or 
two since, "I think it highly dangerous to keep 
the bills of small banks on hand nowadays." 
" Tim," said the other, " I find it far more diffi- 
cult than dangerous." 

In one of the courts out West, of course, a 
juryman being called and not answering, the 
usual notice that he w^ould be fined was pro- 
nounced against him, upon which a person, who 
stood by, very gravely said to the court, " you 
may fine him as much as you please, but I 
don't think you will ever recover the fine, for I 
saw him buried a week ago." 



VOLUMES 1st & 2d. 

GLEASON'S PICTORIAL. 

We have volumes 1st and 2d of the Pictorial Dbawinq 
Room Companion elegantly bound in cloth, with gilt edges 
and back, and illumined sides, forming a superb and most 
attractive parlor ornament in the shape of a book of 

Between Four and Five Hundred Pages, 

AND CONTAINING NEARLY 

ONE THOUSAND ENGRAVINGS 

of Men, Manners, and current Events all over the world ; 
of Scenery in all parts of the Globe ; of famous Cities, and 
beautiful Tillages ; of Tageants at homt and abroad; of 
fine Maritime Views ; aud, in short, of an infinite variety 
of interesting and instructive subjects ; with an 

ILLUJIINED TITLE-PAGE AND INDEX 

of great beauty and artistic excellence, and forming a very 
brilliant frontispiece to the volume. 

Besides the many illustrations, it embraces in its pages 
a vast amount of original Tales, Sketches, Poems and Nov- 
elettes, from the best of American authors, with a current 
News Record of the times; altogether forming an exceed- 
ingly novel and elegant volume, for future reference and 
present enjoyment, both in regard to reading matter and 
illustrations. 

For sale at the Publication Office, by our IVhoIeeale 
Agents, and at all the Periodical Depots throughout the 
Union, for Three Dollars per volume. 



THE FLAG OF OUR IWIO^^ 

AX ELEGANT, MORAL AND KEFINED 

Miscellaneous Family Journal, 

Devoted to polite literature, wit and humor, prose and 
poetic gems, and original prize tales, written expressly for 
this paper, and at a very great cost. In politics, and on 
all sectarian questions, it is strictly neutral. Nothing of 
an immoral nature will ever be admitted into its columns ; 
therefore making it emphatically, 

A PAPER POR THE MrLLIO:^, 

AND A WELCOME VISITOR TO THE HOME CIRCLE. 

It is generally acknowledged that the Flag is now tho 
leaiiin^ iveelcly pnprr in tlie Uniud Slairs, and i^ litvrary^ 
contents arc allowed, by thebcstjudc'es, to be unsurpassed. 

It contains the foreign and domestic news of the day, 
£0 condensed as to enable us to give the greatest possible 
amount of intelligence. No advcrtiFements are adn.itted 
to the paper, thus offering the entire sheet, which is of 

THE MAMMOTH SIZE, 

for the instruction and amusement of the general reader. 
An unrivalled corps of contributors arc regularly engaged, 
and every departiiient is under the most finished and per- 
fect svstem that experience can suggest, or money produce. 
Lacking neither the means nor the will, we can lay before 
our hundreds of thousands of readers an 

the present circulation of which far exceeds that of any 
other weekly paper in the Union. 

TEEMS TO STJBSCEIBEKS. 

1 subscriber, one year S2 00 

3 subscribers, " . • 5 00 

4 '; " G 00 

8 » >' 11 00 

IG " <' 20 00 

One copy of tho Flag of our Union, and o:-.c copy of the 
PiCT0RL\L Drawing-Uoom COMPANION, ouo year, for S5<H). 

[Q=" Invariably in advance. 

Subscribers or postmasters are requested to act as agents, 
and form clubs, on tho abovo terms, 

[n7=" AH orders sJwuld he adc/rc'.sed, POST P.VID, to the 
Publisher of tue Flaq op oua Union, 

\* The Flag can be obtahicif at avy of the newsp:::;::' 
depots hi the Vu'ted Stales, and of neivspaper carriers, at 
FOUR CENTS per sin^ie copy. 

F. GLEvVSON, 
Publisder and Prqpcietor, Boston, Mass. 



32 



GLEASON'S I'KTORIAL DRAWING llOOM COMPATnION. 




YIEW OF FORT HA^HLTON, NEW YORK HARBOR. 



FORT H^\J>IILTO]V, NEW YORK. 

Our artist hns given us above a fine view of 
this immense fortress, eight miles south from 
New York city, which, in connection with Fort 
Lafayette, situated in front of Fort Hamilton, in 
the water, and Fort Tompkins and Fort Dia- 
mond on Staten Island, commands not only the 
Narrows, hat the bay and harbor of New York. 
It is built in the most substantial manner of 
granite, and on the most scientific and improved 
principles of military tactics. It is about eight 
feet thick and square, and will hold 5000 men, 
and is said to be impregnable. It is surrounded 
by a ditch, except in front. It mounts eighteen 
heavy guns on the upper, and fourteen on the 
lower tier, besides a number of field-pieces and 
two or three furnaces for iieating shot red hot. 
It is considered one of the finest forts in the 
country ; and the heaviest cannon balls would 
have but little effect, backed as it is by clay. 
The view is taken from the pier belonging to the 
fort, which communicates with Fort Laifiiyctte, 
situated several rods from the sliore. This fort 
mounts near one hundred guns ; it is in the form 
of a diamond, and so called till Lafayette came 
here and landed, and partook of a splendid ban- 
quet, after which it took the name of Fort La- 
fayette, and the new fort on the opposite side — 
just finished — took the name of Fort Diamond. 
The scenery in the vicinity is magnificent, and 
has recently become a place of fashionable re- 
sort — chiefly for the convenience of sea-bathing. 
One of the largest hotels in the Union is in the 
immediate vicinity. The place is growing rap- 
idly, and property is held at an immense price. 
A steamboat communicates from New York, and 
a stage from Brooklvn. 



DEGRADATION OF WORDS. 

Thus, for instance, is it with the word " pmde,'* 
signifying, as now it does, a woman with an over- 
scrupulous affectation of a modesty which she 
does not i*eally feel, and betraying the absence of 
the reality by this over-precis en ess and niceness 
about the shadow. This use of the word must 
needs have been the result of a great corruption 
of manners in them among whom it grew up. 
Goodness must have gone strangely out of fash- 
ion, before things could have come to this. For 
" prude," which is a French word, mean virtuous 
or prudent; "prud'homme" being a nrian of 
courage and probity. But where morals are 
greatly and almost universally relaxed, virtue is 
often treated as hypocrisy, and thus, in a disso- 
lute age, and one disbelieving the existence of 
any inward purity, the word ** prude" came to 
designate one who aflfected a virtue, even as none 
were esteemed to do anything more ; and in this 
use of it, which, having once acquired, it con- 
tinues to retain, abides an evidence of the corrupt 
world's dislike to and disbelief in the realities of 



goodness, its willingness to treat them as mere 
hypocrisies and shows. 

Thus "silly," written "seely" in our earlier 
English, is, beyond a doubt, the German '* selig," 
which means " blessed." We see the word in 
its transition state in our early poets, with whom 
"silly" is so often an affectionate epithet, ap- 
plied to sheep as expressive of their liarmlessness 
and innocency. With a still slighter departure 
from its original meaning, an early English poet 
applies the word to the Lord of glory himself, 
while yet an infant of days, styling him " this 
harmless silh/ babe." But here the same pro- 
cess went forward as with the words " simple " 
and " innocent." And the same moral pheno- 
menon repeats itself continually. 

The French have their "bonhommie" with 
the same undertone of contempt, the Greeks also 
a well-known word. It is to the honor of the 
Latin, and is very characteristic of the best side 
of Roman life, that "simplex" and "simplici- 
tas " never acquired this abusive signification. — 
Trench on the Study of Words. 



ROTHSCHILD'S PILLAR. 

Mr. Rothschild was a constant attendant on 
'Change every Tuesdiiy and Friday ; and, for 
years, was in the habit of planting himself at a 
particular .spot, with his back to the pillar kno^vn 
to every frequenter of the Exchange as " Roths- 
child's pillar;" but, alas for hmnan greatness! 
he was on one occasion doomed to experience 
the sad annoyance that he had no especial rigiit 
to that particular spot. A person of the name of 
Rose, possessed of great courage but little judg- 
ment, on Tuesday aftemoon, pm-posely placed 
himself on the spot hitherto occupied I)y the mil- 
lionaire. On Mr. Rothschild's approach he re- 
quested the party to move. This was just what 
the other expected, and what he was prepared to 
dispute. He argued that this was the Royal 
Excliange, free to all; and he, as a British sub- 
ject, liad a right to stand there, if he thought fit. 
This doctrine could not of course be disputed; 
but ho was told it was the spot that Mr. Roths- 
child invariably occupied, and, as such, ought to 
be yielded : but no ; this dogged Rose, being a 
powerful man, defied Mr. Rothschild and all his 
tribe to remove him. For nearly three quarters 
of an hour — the most valuable portion of the 
Exchange time — did lie keep possession of the 
pillar; and not until the whole business of the 
exchange of the day was jeopardized did this 
silly personage, after having, as he said, estab- 
lished his right, retire, amidst the yells and 
howls of all the merchants there assembled, who 
fould hardly restrain themselves from pergonal 
violence, so exasperated were they by the dogged 
defiance of the interloper. — Laicson s Histori) of 
nnnkiiiq. 




GEN. WIXFIELD SCOTT WrilG CANDIDATE FOE THE PRESIDENCY. 



GENERAL ^FINFIELD SCOTT, 

WHIG CANDIDATE FOR THE PnESIDENCT. 

As last week wc gave a portrait of General 
Pierce, the Democratic nominee for President, 
we lierewith present a fine likeness of General 
Scott, the Whig candidate for the same office. 
Of the life, services and character of Winfield 
Scott, it is scarcely necessary to speak. He is 
confessedly one of the greatest, if not the great- 
est captain, of the age. The scars of battle are 
on his brow. General Scott was born June 13, 
1786, near Petersburg, Virginia, and is in his^ 
67th year. His ancestiy were men of the Low- 
lands of Scotland. They were engaged in the 
rebellion of 1745, and one of them was slain at 
Culloden. In 1806, Winfield Scott was admitted 
to the bar, and emigrated to Charleston, S. C 
In 1808, when the army was enlarged by an act 
of Congress, he became a captain of Light Ar- 
tillery. In 1809, he was ordered to New Orleans, 
under Gen. Wilkinson. On the breaking out of 
the war of 1812, which he approved, Scott was 
appointed — having perfected himself in tactics 
in the meantime — lieutenant colonel of Artilleiy, 
and sent to the Northern frontier, taking post at 
Black Rock, near Buffalo. On the 13th of Oc- 
tober, 1812, at the head of 350 regulars and 250 
volunteers — the militia at Lewiston having, panic 
struck, refused to cross the river — Scott fought 
the battle of Queenstown Heights, against 1300 
British. The Americans were repulsed, and 
Scott was made a prisoner, but soon released. 
On the 27th of May, 1813, he stormed Fort 
George, and pulled down the flag with his own 
hands. March 9, 1814, he joined in the capture 
of Fort Matilda, on the St. Lawrence. On July 
3, 1814, he captured Fort Erie. On the 6th, he 
fouglit the battle and won the victory of Chippe- 
wa, where the non-invincibility of British bayon- 
ets was first proved to the world. On the 25th, 
he fought the battle of Niagara and Lundy's 
Lane, opposed by great odds — ^^'^ictory rewarded 
the Americans. Scott had two horses shot under 
him, and was twice wounded by musket shot. 
For weeks his life was despaired of. Congress 
voted him thanks. He was tendered the post of 
Secretary of War by Madison, but declined in 
deference to his seniors. Generals Brown and 
Jackson. He soon after visited Europe, entrust- 
ed with important diplomatic functions, for tlie " 
])erformance of which he received the thanks of 
the State Department. He returned to the 
United States in 1816, and in 1817 married a 
Miss Mayo, of Richmond, Va., by whom he has 
several daughters, hut no living son. In 1832-3, 
he won the compliments of General Cass, Secre- 
tary of War, for his conduct in the Black Hawk 
war. He was also engaged in the Seminole and 
Creek wars. In 1837-8, he was engaged in set- 
tling the troubles growing out of the "Patriot 
war " on the Northern frontier. In 1840, he was 
a prominent candidate for the Presidency. In 
1841, on the death of Macomb, General Scott 
was called to the entire command of the army. 
During the Nullification agitation, he was in 
command at Charleston Harbor. His last cam- 
paign in Mexico is fresh in all memories. It is 
summed up in t)ie brilliant victories of Vera 
Cruz, Cerro Gordo, Contreras, Churubusco, Mo- 
lino del Rey, Cliapultepec, and the City of Mex- 
ico, all won within six months. AVellington has 
declared the campaign unsurpassed jn military 
annals, and yielded to Scott the name of the 
greatest livhig soldier. 




T? riTl?Aan\T( corner BROiiriELD 
i<. UIjI<jAk5UiN, ( AND TKE5I0ST STS. 



BOSTON, SATURDAY, JULY 17, 1852. 



S2 TER TOLmiE. \ -rr 
10 Cts. SLS'GLE. ( V OL. 



III. No. 3.— Whole No. 55. 



DONETXI'S MONltEY TROUPE. 

"Wc present below an engraving illustrating a 
scene from the famous and most remarkable per- 
formance of Donetti's ti-ained animals, as they 
lately appeared at the Astor Place Opera House. 
Our descriptive sketch is taken from the pro- 
gramme of performance. M. Donetti, an Italian 
by birth, after a hard study of thirty years, has 
succeeded in training a number of animals, so as 
to make them do his bidding. But if they lose 
sight of him only for a moment, their savage 
instinct instantly returns to tliem. M. Donetti 
has triumphed over them only by the power of 
Jiis eyes, and he seldom or never punishes them. 
It is by kindness alone lie has obtained the won- 
derful results of which we give a description. 
In scene 1st, the curtain rises slowly and disclos- 
es a table, around which six well dressed mon- 
keys of different species are sitting do^vTi, waiting 
for their supper. They sit with demure faces, 
excepting now and then a chattering wliich they 
hold together, resembling the chattering of men 
in a hurry to get their food. I\Ime. Rattafia, 
another monkey, dressed in a blue skirt and 
short gown, with cap on head, comes in with a 
pair of candles, which she places on tlie table, 
and retires to bring in the edibles, and with a 



quickness of motion and propi'iety of conduct, 
which ought to be copied by a number of our 
servants. Mme. Kattafia's son, a little tiny 
monkey, dressed as a cook, with w^hite frock and 
white night cap, brings in a plate of salad, which 
is placed before the convivial party, which is 
soon devom*ed with gusto by the hungry crew ; 
cakes, nuts, and other dainties arc brought in, 
which follows the salad. Mme. Rattafia and her 
son bring in a basket of wine, each monkey re- 
ceives his bottle, which he seems to enjoy. Tlic 
whole scene is one which creates shouts of laugh- 
ter. M. Donetti next introduces to the audience 
Le Magot d'Afrique, a handsomely-dressed mon- 
key, who jumps on a slack rope, and performs 
evolutions on it which put to shame many a 
slack-rope dancer, which we see in our circuses. 
The next slack-rope evolutionist introduced is 
La Superbe Madrille, who goes through the 
most surprising feats of tumbling and whirlhig 
on tlie rope, to the great enjoyment of the audi- 
ence ; such a happj' set of faces as were present 
at the representation, are seldom met on any 
otiier occasion. General Jocko, with sabre in 
hand, riding on a beautiful dog, now comes in, 
followed by his army of monkeys on foot, the 
first of whom, as he follows on his hind legs. 



leans liis head on the dog's tail, while the other 
three, also bending their backs, repose in like 
manner upon him and each other, perfomiing 
several military evolutions. In anotlier scene, 
Mile. Minie, the great equestrienne, comes in, 
riding on a magnificent dog, and goes through 
her exercises in a creditable manner, jumping on 
and off lier courser with the greatest agility, and 
performing in imitation of the circus riders, going 
through all her feats with a serious face, and 
with the greatest apparent satisfaction. M. Don- 
etti next introduces the tight-rope dancer, a man- 
drillc of ihe largest size, who, in imitation of the 
rope dancer, has his feet chalked, and then com- 
mences his dancing and jumping on the rope 
with a balance pole in his hand. At the rise of 
the curtain, and at the sound of mai'tial music, 
tlie Marchioness of Batavia enters, riding in her 
barouclie, drawn by two beautiful white poodles. 
Ou the box, a monkey coachman sits with the 
reins in his hand, and cracking his wliip. Be- 
hind the carriage, a monkey footman, in rich 
livery, rides. The noble monkey lady lias oc- 
casion to descend from her carriage, and displays 
her rich costume. She remounts, and the car- 
riage starts at a rapid rate, one of the lincli pins 
gives way, the barouche is upset, the monkey 



lady falls out, but fortunately without sustaining 
any fracture, a chair is brought, on which she 
sits steadying her nerves until the footman, who 
has run about to repair the accident, has suc- 
ceeded in recovering the wheel, and replacing it; 
all the time during the accident the coachman 
has been holding his dog coursers by the bridle, 
for fear of their running away. The carriage is 
repaired, and the monkey marchioness re-enters 
her carriage, when the whole equipage drives off. 
In tlie scene of " The Deserter," as represented 
below, a dog, dressed as a soldier, is seen walk- 
ing on his hind legs, and carrying a musket on^ 
his shoulder, leading in a monkey,also dressed in 
uniform, with two large red epaulets. A mon- 
key, dressed as a clergyman, with wliite band; 
projecting from his throat, brings in a placarded 
sentence of condemnation to dcalky to be shot bi/ his 
comrades. While a bell is slowly tolling,tlie mas- 
ter ties a white handkerchief around the head of 
the culprit, who, as one of the dogs levels a gun 
at him and then fires it off, drops motionless. A 
mournful tune is heard, and a monkey, dressed 
as a grave-digger, in rusty black clothes, wheeling 
in a black cart, puts the dead monkey into it, 
and takes him oft" to perform the burial. The 
scene is altogether very unique. 



^;>i^i^;^^ 




BONETTl'S COMIC TROUPE OF TRAINED ANIMALS. 



34 



GLEASON'S l>I(;rORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



Entcvcd Hccording to Act of Congi-css, in tlio yenv 1852, by F. Gleabon, in tlio Clurli's Office of the 
District Court of Mussadmsette. 



[WIIITTKN EXrniiSSLT FOR OLEASON's I'ICTORIAL.] 



THE 






OR, 

THE FORTUNES OF A SOLDIER. 

3. Storg vvf Cove rtnb ffjc im €<ii\Uxk^f 



BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY. 



[CONTI 



CHAPTER V. 



THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 



The fervor and heat of the mid-day atmos- 
phere had boon intense, but a most delightfully 
rcfresliing sea breeze had sprung up at last, and 
after fanning its way across the Gulf Stream, 
was dallying now with the palms and orange 
trees that so gracefully surrounded the marble 
statue of Ferdinand, in the midst of the Plaza, and 
ruffling the marble basin of water that hubbies 
forth from the graceful basin at its base. Light 
puffs of it, too, found their way into the invitingly 
open windows of the governor's palace, into an 
apartment which was improved by General Ha- 
rero. Often pausing at the window to breathe 
in of the delightful atmosphere for a 'mo"ment, 
he would again resume Iiis irregular walk and 
seemingly absorbed in a dreamy frame of mind, 
quite unconscious of the outward world about 
him. At last he spoke, though only communing 
with himself, yet quite aloud : 

" Strange, very strange, that this Captain Bc- 
zan should seem to stand so much in my way. 
Curse his luck, tlie old don and his daughter 
feel under infinite obligations to him already, 
and well they may, as to the matter of that. If 
it was not for the girl's extraordinary stock of 
pride, we should have her falling in love with 
this young gallant directly, and there would be 
an end to all my hopes and fancies. He's low 
enough, now, however, so my valet just told me, 
and ten to one, if his physician knows his case, 
as he pretends, he'll make a die of it. He is a 
gallant fellow, that's a fact, and brave as he is 
gallant. I may as well own the fact that's what 
makes me hate him so ! But he should not have 
crossed my path, and served to blight my hopes, 
there's the rub. I like the man well enough as 
a soldier, hang it. I'd like half the army to be 
just like liim — they'd be invincible ; but he has 
crossed my interest, ay, my love ; and if he does 
get up again and crosses me with Isabella Gon- 
zales, why then — well, no matter, there are ways 
enough to remove the obstacle from ray path. 

"By the way," he continued, after crossing 
and re-crossing the room a few times, " what a 
riddle this Isabella Gonzales is ; 1 wonder if she 
has got any heart at all. Here am I, who have 
gone scathless through the courts of beauty these 
many years, actually caught — surprised at last ; 
for I do love the girl ; and yet how archly she 
teazes me ! Sometimes, I think within myself 
that I am about to win the goal, when di-op goes 
the curtain, and she's as far away as ever. How 
queenly she looks, nevertheless. I had much 
rather be refused by such a woman, to my own 
mortification, than to succeed with almost any 
other, if only for the pleasure of looking into 
those eyes, and reading in silent language her 
poetical and ethereal beauty — I might be happy 
but for this fcllow,this Captain Bezan ; he troubles 
me. Though there's no danger of her loving 
him, yet he seems to stand in my way, and to 
divert her fancy. Thank, Heaven, she's too 
proud to love one so humble." 

Thus musing and talking aloud to himself, 
General Harero walked back and forth, and back 
and forth again in his apartment, until his orderly 
brought him the evening report of his division. 
A far different scene was presented on the other 
side of the great square, in the centre of whicli 
stands the shrubbery and fountain of the Plazn. 
Let the reader follow u.s now in.side the massive 
atone walls of the Spanish barracks, to a dimly 



NUED . ] 

lighted room, where lay a wounded soldier upon 
his bed. The apartment gave token in its furni- 
ture of a very peculiar combination of lilerary 
and military taste. There were foils, long and 
short swords, pistols, hand pikes, flags, military 
boots and spurs ; hut there were also Shaks- 
peare, Milton, the illustrated edition of Cervantes's 
Don Quixote, and a voluminous history of Spain, 
with various other prose and poetic volumes, in 
different languages. A guitar also lay carelessly 
in one corner, and a rich but faded bouquet of 
flowers filled a porcelain vase. 

At the foot of the bed where the wounded sol- 
dier lay, stood a boy with a quivering lip and 
swimming eye, as he heard the sick man moan 
in his uneasy sleep. Close by the head of the 
bed sat an assistant-surgeon of the regiment, 
watching what evidently seemed to be the turn- 
ing point as to the sufferer's chance for life or 
death. As the boy and the surgeon watched 
him thus, gradually the opiate just administered 
began to affect him, and he seemed at last to fall 
into the deep and quiet sleep that is indicated by 
a low, regular and uninternqjted respiration. 

The boy had not only watched the wounded 
man, but had seemed also to half read the sur- 
geon's thoughts, from time to time, and now 
marked the gleam of satisfaction upon his face 
as the medicine produced the desired effect upon 
the system of his patient. 

" How do you think Captain Bezan is. to-day ?" 
whispered the boy, anxiously, as the surgeon 
followed him noiselessly from the sick-room to 
the corridor without. 

" Very low, master Ruez, very low indeed ; it 
is the most critical period of his sickness ; but he 
has gone finely into that last nap, thanks to the 
medicine, and if he will but continue under its 
influence thus for a few hours, we may look for 
an abatement of this burning thirst and fever, 
and then — " 

"What, sir?" said tlie boy, eagerly, "what 
then ?" 

" Why, he maj/ get over those wounds, but it's 
a severe case, and would be little less than a 
miracle. I've seen sicker men live, and I've 
seen those who seemed less sick die." 

"Alas ! then there is no way yet of decidincr 
upon his ease," said the boy. 

"None, Master Ruez ; but we'll hope for tlic 
best ; that is all that can be done." 

Ruez Gonzales walked out of the barracks and 
by the guard with a sad countenance, and whis- 
tling for Carlo, who had crouched by the parapet 
until his yoimg master should come out, he 
turned his steps up the C'aJla de Mercaderes to his 
home. Ruez sought his sister's apartment, and 
throwing himself upon a lounge, seemed moody 
and unhappy. As he reclined thus, Isabella re- 
garded him intently, as though she would read his 
thoughts without asking for them. There seemed 
to he some reason wliy she did not speak to him 
sooner, but at last she asked : 

"AVell, Ruez, how is Captain Bezan, to-day? 
have you been to the barracks to inquire V She 
said this in an assumed tone of indifference, luit 
it was only as;.uraed. 

" Plow is lie ?" repeated Ruez, after tinning a 
quick glance of his soft blue eyes upon his sis- 
ter's face, as though he would readher very soul. 
Isabella/f// his glance, and almost blushed. 

" Yes, brother, pray, how is Captain Bezan, 
to-day? do you not know?" 

" His life hangs by a mere thread," continued 
the boy, sadly, resuming again his former posi- 



tion. " The surgeon told me that hin recovery 
was v(^ry doidufui." 

" Did he tell you that, Ruez?" 

" Not those words, sister, but tliat which was 
equivalent (o it, however." 

" lie i.>< worse, then, much worse?" slic con- 
tinued, in a hasty tone of voice. 

"Not worse, sister," replied Ruez. " I did 
not tiay that he was worse, but the fever i-agcs 
still, and unless that abates within a few hour.-J, 
deatli must follow." 

I.sabella Gonzales sat herself down at an open 
balcony and looked olf on the distant country in 
silence, so long, that Ruez and the hound both 
fell asleep, and knew not that she at last left her 
seat. The warmth and enervating influence of 
the atmosphere almost requires one to indulge in 
a siesta daily, in these low latitudes and sunny 
regions of the earth. 

" He is dying, then," said Isabella Gonzales, 
to herself, after having sought the silence and 
solitude of her own chamber, "dying and alone, 
far from any kindred voice or hand, or even 
friend, save those among his brothers in arms. 
And yet how much do we owe to him ! He has 
saved all our lives — Ruez's first, and then both 
father's and mine; and in this last act of daring 
gallantry and bravery, he received his death 
wound. Alas ! how fearful it seems to me, this 
strange picture. AVould I could see and thank 
him once more — take from him any little com- 
mission that he might desire in his last moments 
to transmit to his distant home — for a sister, 
motlier, or brother. Would that I could smooth 
his pillow and bathe his fevered bi'ow ; I know 
he loves me, and these attentions would be so 
grateful to him — so delightful to me. But alas! 
it would be considered a disgrace for me to visit 
him." 

Let the reader distinctly understand the feel- 
ings that actuated the heart of the lovely girl. 
The idea of loving the wounded soldier had 
never entered the proud but now humbled Isa- 
bella's thoughts. Could such a thought have 
been by any means suggested to her, she would 
have spurned it at once ; but it was the woman's 
sympathy that she felt for one who would have 
doubtless sacrificed his lite for her and hers ; it was 
a simple act of justice she would have perfonned ; 
and the pearly tear that now wet her cheek, was 
that of sympathy, and of sympathy alone. Beau- 
tiful trait, how glorious thou art in all ; but how 
doubly glorious in woman ; because in her na- 
tiu-e thou art most natural, and there thou flndest 
the congenial associations necessary for thy full 
conception. 

General Harero had judged Isabella Gonzales 
well when he said that there was no danger 
of her loving Lorenzo Bezan — she had too much 
pride ! 

But let us look once more into the sick room 
we so lately left, where the wounded soldier lies 
suffering from his wounds. A volante has just 
stopped at the barracks' doors, and a girl, whose 
dress betokens her to be a servant, steps out, 
and telling her errand to the corporal of the 
guard, is permitted to pass the sentinel, and is 
conducted to the sick man's room. She brings 
some cooling draughts for his parched lips, and 
fragrant waters with which to bathe his fevered 
temples and burning forehead. 

" Who sends these welcome gifts to Captain 
Bezan?" asked the assistant-surgeon. 

"My lady, sir." 

"And who is yom* lady, my good girl, if you 
please ?" he asked. 

" The Senorita Isabella Gonzales, sir," was 
the modest reply of the maid. 

"Ah, yes; her brother has been here this after- 
noon, I remember," said the surgeon ; " the sick 
man fell asleep then, and hasnotyetawakencd." 

" Heaven grant the sleep may refi-esh him and 
restore his strength," said the girl. 

"Amen, say I to that," continued the sur- 
geon, "and amen says every man in the regi- 
ment." 

" Is he so popular as that?" asked the girl, 
innocently. 

"Popular, why he's the pet of the entire di- 
vision. He's the best swordsman, best scholar, 
best — in short we could better lose half the other 
officers than Captain Bezan." 

" Do you think him any better than he was 
this morning ?" 

"The sleep is favorable, Itighly favorable," 
replied the surgeon, approaching the bedside ; 
but in my judgment of the case, it must entirely 
depend upon the state in which he wakes." 

" Is there fear of waking him, do you think ?" 
asked the girl, in a whisper, as she drew nearer 
to the bed, and looked upon the high, pale fore- 



head and remarkably handsome features of the 
young soldier. Thou;.di the few days of conlinc- 
nieut which he had hullered, and the acute pain 
he had endured liy them, had hollowed his cheeks, 
yet he was handsome still, 

"No," replied the surgeon, to her question; 
" he will sleep quite long enough from the opiate, 
quite as long as I wish ; and if he should wako 
even now, it would not I>e too soon." 

" How very slightly he breathes," continued 
the girl, observantly. 

" Very ; but it is a relief to sec him breathe in 
tJiat way," replied the surgeon. 

" Stay, did he not murmur something, then ?" 
asked tlie maid. 

"Possibly," replied the surgeon. "He has 
talked constantly during his delirium. Pray, my 
good girl, docs he know your mistress very 
well '{" 

"I think not," was the reply. "But why do 
you ask that '." 

" Because he seems constantly to dream and 
talk aliout her night and day. Indeed she is all 
he has spoken of since the height of hi..- fever was 
upon him." 

"Indeed!" said the girl, musing at the sur- 
geon's words abstractedly. 

" Have you not heard your mistress speak of 
him at all ?" 

" Yes, that is, he once did the family some 
important service. Do you say that lie talked 
of Senorita Isabella in the hours of his delirium ?" 

" Yes, and in looking into his dressing-case, a 
few days since, to find some lint for his wounds, 
I discovered this," said the surgeon, showing the 
girl a miniature, painted on ivory with great 
skill and beauty. " I think it must be a likeness 
of the Senorita Isabella," lontinued the surgeon, 
" though I have never seen Iier to know lier but 
once." 

" It is indeed meant for her." said the girl, 
eagerly scanning the soft and delicate picture, 
which represented the Senorita Isabella Gon- 
zales as sitting at an open window and gazing 
forth on the soft, dreamy atmosjthere of a tropi- 
cal sunset. 

" You think it is like lier ?" 

" 0, very." 

" Well, I was sure that it was meant for the 
lady when I first saw it." 

"May I bathe his temples with this Florida 
water ?" asked the girl, as she observed the siek 
man to move slightly and to moan. 

" Yes, it will have a tendency to rouse him 
gently, and it is now time for him to wake." 

The girl smoothed back the dark locks from 
the soldier's brow, and with her hands bathed 
his marble-like forehead and temples as gently as 
she might have done had he been an infant. The 
stimulating influence of the delicate spirits she 
was using was most delightful to the senses of 
the sick man, and a soft smile for a moment 
breathed his lips, as half awake and half dream- 
ing, he returned thanks for the kindness, min- 
gled with Isabella's name. 

The girl bent over his couch to hear the words, 
and the surgeon saw a tear drop upon the siek 
man's hand from the girl's eyes as she stood 
there! In a moment more the soldier seemed 
to arouse, and uttered a long deep sigh, as though 
relieved from some heavy weight that had long 
been oppressing him, both mentally and physi- 
cally. He soon opened his eyes, and looked 
languidly about him, as if striving to recall his 
situation, and what had prostrated him thus. 

The girl stepped immediately back from the 
bedside, as she observed these tokens, and drop- 
ing the rebosa that had been heretofore confined 
veil-like to the crown of her head, and partially 
screened her features, but she showed most un- 
mistakable signs of delight, as she read in the 
soldier's eyes that reason had once more returned 
to her throne, and that Lorenzo Bezan was once 
more rational. 

"How beautiful!" uttered the sui-geon, half 
aloud, as lie stood gazing at the girl. " If the 
mistress be as lo\'cly as the maid, no wonder 
Captain Bezan has talked of her in his delirium !" 

" Step hither, step hither, he is awake !" whis- 
pered the girl to the surgeon. 

" And his reason too has returned," said the 
professional man, as soon as his eyes rested on 
the wounded soldier's face. " There is hope 
now !" 

" Thank Heaven for its infinite mercy!" said 
the girl, with an earnest though tremulous voice, 
as she gathered her rebosa about her face and 
prepared to depart, 

" He will recover now ?" she asked, once more, 
as she turned towards the surgeon. 

" With care and good nursing we may hope 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



35 



so," was the reply of the attendant, who still 
looked earnestly into the face of the inquirer as 
he spoke. 

" Mv lady knew not the pecnniary condition 
of Captain Bezan at this time, and desired that 
tliis purse mio;ht be devoted to his convenience 
and comfort ; but she also desires that this may 
not bo knowni to him. May I trust to you, sir, 
in tliis little matter V 

" It will give me great pleasm-e to keep the 
secret, and to improve the purse solely for the 
sick man's individnal benefit," was the reply. 

" Thank you, sir ; I see yon arc indeed his 
friend," she answered, as she bowed low and 
withdrew. 

Scarcely liad the door closed after the visitor, 
before the surgeon, tm-ning hastily once more to 
the miniature he had shown, examined it in va- 
rious lights, now carefully with a part shaded by 
the hand, and now as a whole, and now near to, 
and then at a distance. 

" I more than suspected it," he exclaimed, 
with emphasis ; " and now I know it ; that lady 
was Scnorita Isabella Gonzales, the belle of 
Havana !" 

And so indeed it was. Unable longer to re- 
sti-ain her desire to see him who had so infinitely 
served the interests of herself and her father's 
house, the proud girl had smothered every ad- 
verse prompting in her bosom, and donning her 
dressing-maid's attire, had thus dressed in hum- 
ble costume, stepped into a volante, and ordering 
the calesaro to drive to the infantry barracks, 
where she knew the sick man was, had entered 
as we have seen, under pretext of bringing neces- 
sities from her pretended mistress to the wounded 
soldier. Her scheme had succeeded infinitely 
well, nor would she liave betrayed herself to even 
the surgeon's observant eye, had it not been for 
that siii(//e tear! 

" What angel was that r' whispered the sick 
man, to his attendant, who now approached his 
bedside to administer some cooling draught. 

" You have been dreaming, my dear fellow," 
said the discreet surgeon, cautiously, " and are 
already much better ; keep as quiet as possible, 
and we will soon have you out again. Here, 
captain, drink of this fruit water, it will refresh 
you." 

Too weak to argue or even to talk at all, the 
sick man drank as he was desired, and Iialf closed 
his eyes again, as if he thought by thus doing he 
might once more bring back the sweet vision 
which had just gladdened his feeble senses. 

Like a true-hearted fellow as he was, the sur- 
geon resolved not to reveal the lady's secret to 
any one — not even to his patient ; for he saw 
that this was her earnest desire, and she had con- 
fided in part to him her errand there. But those 
who saw the surgeon in the after part of that 
day, marked that he bore a depressed and 
thoughtful countenance. 

Isabella Gonzales had filled his vision, and 
very nearly his heart, also, by her exquisite love- 
liness and beauty ! 



CHAPTER VI. 



THE CHALLENGE. 



The Tacon Theatre is one of the largest in 
the world, and is situated in the Paseo, just out- 
side the city walls. You enter the parquet and 
first row of boxes from the level of the street, and 
above this ai'e four ranges of boxes, besides seats 
in the parquet for six hundred persons. The gild- 
ings are elaborate and beautiful, and the frescoes 
are done by the first Italian artists ; the whole 
being brilliantly lighted by an immense chande- 
lier in the centre, and lesser ones pendant from 
the half moon of boxes, and supplied with gas. 
It is a superb establishment, and when it is filled 
with the beauty and fashion of the city, it is a 
brilliant sight indeed. 

It is nearly a month subsequent to the scene 
that closed the last chapter of our story, that we 
would carry the reader with us within the bril- 
liantly lighted wails of the Tacon Theatre. How 
lively and gay is the prospect that presents itself 
to the eye — the glittering jewelry and diamonds 
of the fair senoras and senoritas, casting back 
the brilliant light, and rivalled in lustre by the 
sparkle of a thousand e3'^es of jet. The gilded 
and jewelled fans rustle audibly (what would a 
Spanish or Creole lady do without a fan ?) — the 
orchestra dashes off in a gay and thrilling over- 
t ire, intermingled by the voices, liere and there, 
of merry groups of the audience, while the stately 
figures of the soldiers on duty are seen, with their 
many-colored dresses and caps, amid the throng, 
and at the rear of the boxes. 



In a centre box of the first tier sits Senorita Isa- 
bella Gonzales, with her fat'ier, brother, General 
Harero, and a party of friends. All eyes are 
turned towards the peerless beauty — those of the 
ladies with envy at her extraordinary charms of 
person, and those of the young cavaliers and 
gentlemen with undisguised admiration at the 
picture of loveliness which met their eyes. Isa- 
bella herself sat with an easy and graceful air of 
unconsciousness, bowing now to the meaningless 
compliments and remarks of General Harero, 
and now smiling at some pleasantry of Ruez, 
who was close to her side, and now again regard- 
ing for a moment the tall, manly figure of an 
officer near the proscenium box, who was on 
duty there, and evidently the ofllcer of the even- 
ing. This may sound odd to a rcpul)lican, but 
no assembly, no matter how unimportant, is per- 
mitted, except under the immediate eye and su- 
pervision of the military. 

" There is Captain Bezan," said Ruez, with 
undisguised pleasure, pointing towards the pros- 
cenium box where the young officer stood. 

" Yes, I see him, Ruez," replied Isabella, 
" and it is the first time he has been out on duty, 
I think, since his dangerous and protracted 
illness.'^ 

" I know it is the first time," said the boy, 
" and I don't think he's hardly able to be out 
now. How very pale he is looking, Isabella." 

" Do you think he's very pale, Ruezi" she 
asked, turning towards the soldier, whose arm 
and sword were now outstretched, indicating some 
movement to a file of soldiers on tlie other side. 
" He's too ill, I should think, to be out in the 
night air." 

" One would certainly think so," answered 
Isabella. 

" His company was ordered out to-night," 
said Ruez, " and though the surgeon told him to 
remain in, he said he must be with his command." 
" You seem to know his business almost as 
well as himself. Master Ruez," said General Ha- 
rero, who had overheard the remarks relating to 
Captain Bezan. 

" The captain and I are great friends, famous 
friends," replied Ruez, instantly. "He's a noble 
fellow, and just my idea of what a soldier should 
be. Don't you think him a fine soldier, General 
Harero ?" asked tlic boy, most frankly. 

" Humph !" ejaculated the general, " why, yes, 
he's good enough for aught I know, profession- 
ally. Not quite rough and tough enough for a 
thorough bred one, I think," was the reply of his 
superior, who was plainly watching Isabella 
Gonzales's eyes while he spoke to the boy, and 
who was anything but pleased to see how often 
she glanced at Captain Bezan. 

" I don't know what you may mean by rough 
uTid tough, general," said Ruez, with evident 
feeling evinced in his voice ; " but I know, very 
well, that Captain Bezan is as brave as a lion, 
and I don't believe there is a man in your ser- 
vice who can swim with such weight as he can 
do." 

" May be not," replied the general, with as- 
sumed inditference. 

" Then why say that he's not rough and tough '? 
that means something," continued the boy, with 
not a little pertinacity in defence of his new 
friend. 

" There's some difference, let me tell you. 
Master Ruez, between facing an enemy with 
blazing gunpowder before your eyes, and merely 
swimming a while in cold water." 

" The very wounds that came so near proving 
fatal to Captain Bezan, prove that he can fight, 
general, as well as swim," said Ruez, rather 
smartly, in reply, while Isabella Gonzales glanced 
at her brother with evident tokens of satisfaction 
in her face. 

" You are enthusiastic in your friend's behalf," 
said General Harero, coldly. 

"And well I may be, since I not only owe 
him my own life, but that of my dear sister and 
father," continued Ruez, quite equal to the gen- 
eral's remark in any instance. 

" Certainly, you are right, Master Ruez," said 
General Harero, biting his lips, as he saw that 
Isabella was regarding him with more than ordi- 
nary attention. 

In the meantime Lorenzo Bezan remained, as 
in duty bound, at his post, while many an admir- 
ing eye was resting upon his fine figure and 
martial bearing. He was quite unconscious of 
being the subject of such particular remark and 
criticism within the hearing of her he so nearly 
worshipped — the beautiful Isabella Gonzales. 
Though his heart was with her every moment, 
and his thonghts were never off the box, even 



where she sat, yet it was only now and then that 
he permitted himself to turn his eyes, as though 
by accident, towards Don Gonzales and his 
daughter. He seemed to feel that General Ha- 
rero was particularly regarding him, and he 
strove to be less thoughtful of Isabella, and if 
possible, more observant of his regular duty. It 
is the duty of the officer of the niglit for the oc- 
casion, to fill the post during the performance, 
where the young officer now stood, as it com- 
manded a view of the entire house, and was the 
point, where, by an order from him, he could at 
once summon a much lai-ger force under arms 
than that which under ordinary circumstances 
was required. Each division of the guard was 
set from this point, therefore Captain Bezan, as 
was his custom, remained here durnig the per- 
formance. 

" It must be very tedious to stay thus stand- 
ing just there," remarked Ruez, pointing to 
Captain Bezan, and speaking to Isabella. 

" I should think so," was the reply of his sis- 
ter, who had often turned that way, to the no 
small annoyance of the observant General Harero. 
" A soldier's duty," replied the general, 
"should content him with his post." 

It was nearly the middle of the evening's en- 
tertainment, when turning his eyes towards the 
box occupied by Don Gonzales and his party, 
Captain Bezan caught the eye of Isabella Gon- 
zales, and at tlie same time observed distinctly 
the peculiar wave of the fan, with which a Span- 
ish lady invites in a friendly manner the approach 
of a friend of the opposite sex. He could not 
be mistaken, and yet was it possible that the 
belle of all that proud assemblage deigned openly 
to notice and compliment him thus in public ? 
Impelled by the ardor of his love, and the hope 
that he liad rightly construed the signal, he ap- 
proached the box from the rear, and stepping to 
its back, gave soi^je indication to one of his or- 
derlies sufficiently loud in tone to cause Isabella 
and her father to turn their heads, as they at once 
I'ecognized the voice of tlie young officer. 

"Ah! Captain Bezan," said Don Gonzales, 
heartily, as lie caught the young officer's eye, 
"glad to see you once more with epaulets on — 
upon my soul I am." 

" Thank you, sir," said the soldier, first salut- 
ing in due form his superior, and then bowing 
low and gracefully to Isabella Gonzales, who 
honored him with a gracious smile. 

"You are looking comparatively well, cap- 
tain," said Don Gonzales, kindly. 

" yes, sir, I am as well as ever, now," re- 
plied the offieei", clieerfuUj'. 

Ruez Gonzales loved Lorenzo Bezan like a 
brother; first, because he had so materially served 
him at imminent peril of his own life, and sec- 
ondly, because he saw in him just such traits of 
character as attracted his young heart, and 
aroused it to a spirit of emiilation. "With the 
privilege of boyhood, therefore, he sprang over 
the seats, half upsetting General Harero to get 
at tlie young officer's side, which, having accom- 
plished, he seized his hand familiarly. General 
Harero frowned at this familiarity, and his face 
grew doubly dark and frowning, as he saw now 
how closely Isabella was observing the young 
officer all the while. 

"I trust you find yourself quite recovered, 
captain, from your severe illness," said Isabella, 
reaching by her father, as she addressed Lorenzo 
Bezan kindly. 

"I am quite recovered, lady; better, if possi- 
ble, than before," he replied, respectfully. "Mas- 
ter Ruez has been a constant nurse to me, 
thoughtful and kind," he continued, as he looked 
down upon the boy's handsome features with real 
affection lighting up his own pale face. 

Ruez only drew the closer to his side at these 
words, while his father, Don Gonzales, watched 
both the soldier and his boy with much interest 
for a moment, then turning to General Harero, 
he made some earnest and complimentary re- 
mark, evidently referring to Captain Bezan, 
though uttered in a low tone of voice, which 
seemed to increase the cloud on the general's 
brow. 

But the young soldier was too much interested 
in gazing upon the lovely features of Isabella, to 
notice this ; he seemed almost entranced by the 
tender vision of beauty that was before him. At 
the sime moment some slight disturbance oc- 
curred in a distant part of the extensive building, 
which affiarded a chance for General Harero to 
turn quickly to the young soldier and say : 
" Your duty calls you hence, sir!" 
For a moment tlie blood mantled to the offi- 
cer's face at the tone of this remark, but suppress- 



ing his feelings, whatever they might be, with a 
respectful acknowledgement of the order, Lorenzo 
Bezan hastened to the quarter from whence the 
noise had come, and by a simple direction obvi- 
ated the trouble immediately. But he remem- 
bered the bitter and insulting air of his superior, 
and it cut him to tlic quick, the more keenly too 
as having been given in the presence of Isabella 
Gonzales. 

As he returned from this trifling duty, he ne- 
cessarily again passed the box wliere were Don 
Gonzales and his party, and seeing Ruez stand- 
ing there awaiting his return, he again paused 
for a moment to exchange a word with the boy, 
and once more received a pleasant greeting 
from Isabella and her father. At this but reas- 
onable conduct, General Harero seemed nettled 
and angry beyond all control, and turning once 
more towards Lorenzo Bezan, with a face black ■ 
with suppressed rage, said: 

"It strikes me, sir, that Captain Bezan would 
consult his own interest, and be best performing 
his ordinary duty by maintaining his post at the 
proscenium !" 

" I proposed to i-eturn there immediately, 
General Harero, and stopped here but for one 
moment," said the young officer, witli a burning 
cheek, at the intended insult. 

"Shall I put my words in the form of an 
order ?" continued General Harero, seeing that 
Bezan paused to assist Ruez once more over the 
seats to his position in the box. 

" It is not necessary, general," replied the 
officer, biting his lips with vexation. 

" I declare, general," said Isabella, unable 
longer to remain quiet at his repeated insults to 
tlie young officer, " you soldiers are so very pe- 
remptory, that you half disconcert me." 

" It is sometimes necessary," was the quick 
and stern reply, " to be prompt with young and 
headstrong officers who do not well understand 
their duty, or rather, I may say, who knowing 
their duty, fail to perform it," emphasizing the 
last part of the sentence. 

This was intended not only for the lady's ear, 
but also for that of Lorenzo Bezan, who barely 
succeeded in commanding Iiis feelings for the 
moment, so far as to turn silently away to return 
to his post of observation. The effect of the 
scene was not lost upon tlie high-spirited beauty. 
Isabella had marked well the words and tone of 
voice with which General Harero spoke, and she 
saw, too, the efi'ect of his words upon the free, 
manly spirit of the young soldier, and from that 
moment, either intentionall)', or by accident, she 
paid no further attention during the whole even- 
ing to General Harero, neither turning towards 
him, nor even speaking to him at all. 

The general, of course, observed this particu- 
larly, desiring as he did to stand in the best pos- 
sible light as it regarded Isabella's favoi", and 
imputing her conduct to the presence of Captain 
Bezan, aad the conversation that had taken place 
relative to his duty between Captain Bezan and 
himself; he hated the young officer more than 
ever, as being in some degree the cause of pre- 
venting the consummation of hii hopes as it re- 
garded the favor of the lady. He had long cher- 
ished a regard for the beautiful daughter of Don 
Gonzales, for her personal charms, as well as the 
rich coffers which her father could boast. As 
the reader has already sux'mised, he had been a 
constant and ardent, though unsuccessful suitor, 
for no inconsiderable period. It will not, there- 
fore, be wondered at, that he should have felt 
very sensitive upon this point As he passed 
Lorenzo Bezan, therefore, at the close of the per- 
formance, in going out of the theatre that night, 
while still in the most immediate proximity to 
Isabella Gonzales, her father, and the party with 
them, he took occasion to speak very loud, and 
in the most peremptory manner to him, saying : 
" I find yon exceedingly lax. Captain Bezan, 
as it regards the exercise of your duty and com- 
mand. You will report yourself to me, after 
morning parade, for such orders as shall be 
deemed proper for you under the circumstances, 
as a public reproof for dereliction from duty." 

" Yes, general," replied the young officer, with 
the usual salute to his superior. 

Still curbing his feelings, the young officer 
contented himself with a kind glance from 
Isabella Gonzales, who had overheard the last 
act of petty t}Tanny on the general's part, and 
for that very reason redoubled her passing notice 
and smiles upon Captain Bezan. The officer 
marched his company to their barracks, and then 
sought the silence and quiet of his own room, to 
think over the events of the past evening. 

[to be COXTINUEJD.] 



36 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



A VALUABLE SERIES OF ILLUSTRATED VIEAVS OF NIAGARA FALLS. 




NIAGARA RIVER. THE GREAT RAPIDS, TAKEN FROM IRIS ISLAND. 



We present herewith a series of views, as 
promised in our last week's paper, representing 
Nia^^ara Falls in many phases. We arc indebted 
for them to the grapliie pencil, and, in part, for 
the description, to the pen also of Baron Regis 
de Trobriand, who, since his 
marriage with a New York la- 
dy, has become almost one of 
us, and is the charm and pride 
of New York society. A fine 
artist, musician and critic, an 
excellent writer and polished 
gentleman, he eclipses, by the 
versatility of his talent, the 
famous Count d'Orsay. The 
Little Ra])ids, which separate 
Iris Island from the American 
shore, although still more 
troubled in their restricted bed, 
which is filled with obstruc- 
tions, give at least some chance 
of safety in case of shipwreck, 
as well by the number of small 
islands which are scattered 
round, as by the bridge which 
crosses them. This wooden 
bridge, of irregular construc- 
tion, is securely fixed, notwith- 
standing the shocks it receives 
from the waves, upon some 
heaps of rocks, enveloped with 
thick oak planks. Horses and 
carriages pass these without 
hindrance ; and this certainly 
is not one of the least striking 
sights at Niagara. One day not 
long shice, at the time this 
sketch was taken, some prome- 
naders, who were leaning upon 
the parapets of the bridge to 
admire the fearful turbulence 



of the waters, as they dashed against the posts, 
were disturbed from their contemplation by dis- 
tant cries and a disturbance upon the shore near 
the commencement of the Rapids. Soon they 
observed a sail boat with two men, which, its sail 



to the wind, seemed to sti-uggle against the cur- 
rent. The uncertainty of their manceuvres 
showed the laborious stniggle of the crew ; but 
the spectators of this exciting scene were still 
able to hope for the safety of the imprudent fish- 











cr,^^- . - 



ermen, when the breeze died away and left them 
to the sole resource of their oars. The danger 
was urgent; they dared not quit theu- oars to 
take down the sail, which Avas no longer any- 
thing l)ut an embarrassment to them, but they 
redoubled their hopeless exer- 
tions. But suddenly, after an 
almost superhuman effort, one 
of the oars breaks ; the boat 
^__ turns round, the sail strikes 

^^_ against the mast, which is bent, 

^^^: and the two unfoi-tunates feel 

-■: ^^ themselves driven towards the 

V5Mr- Rapids. Tumultuous outcries 

- -:3-:: are heard from botli shores and 

from the bridge, " A boat on 
the Rapids !" they shout on all 
sides. In the twinkling of an 
eye, the village streets were 
filled with people moving to- 
wards the river, and there was 
already a crowd upon the 
bridge. The little boat had al- 
ready stnick like a cork the 
line of the first reef; it had just 
stnick a rock half covered by 
the waves and broke its mast ; 
I the sail, which the stupor of 

, ^ the shipwTCckcd ones had pre- 

- _ vented them from taking down, 

dragging in the current. They 
^i saw these unfortunates agitated 

with despair, stretching their 
ai-ms towards the shore, and by 
their frantic gestures, and their 
disordered movements, they di- 
vined the impnidence caused 
-^ by fear, and the loss of all pres- 

ence of mind. Ten times the 
little vessel appeared to strike 
against the i-eef, or to be over- 







NIAGAUA RIVER AND AMERICAN FALLS^ NEAR HOG'S BACK. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWIXG ROOM COIMPANIOX. 



37 




I i/illii All fi 11 





NIAGARA FALLS. AMERICAN FALL, TAKEN FEiOM THE CANADA SHORE. 



whelmed in the whirlpool, and ten times they saw it re-appear 
and rise upon the waves, drawn by an irresistible force. Nevcrtlie- 
Icss, they rapidly approached the bridge, and a thousand shouts, 
a thousand contradictory counsels at the same moment, prevented 
the ship\vrecked ones from comprehending but the horror of their 
situation. Yet tlicy had an opportunity to observe the crowd on 
the parapets, aud they seemed at last to remember that there was 
their last chance of safety. Botli endeavored to remain standing, 
as well as the frightful jolts of the boat permitted them, and they 
held themselves ready for a last attempt. At this moment, a si- 
lence more fearful than a thousand shrieks reigns am.ong all — ■ 
they hold tlieir breath — all arms arc extended towards those for 
whom this minute is a decree of life or of death, liaised up by a 
billow, the little boat bounds against a bank of rocks, turns 
round several times in a whirlpool, which again throws it up, and 
launches it against the posts of the bridge, under which she disap- 
pears. With one spring the spectators rush to the opposite para- 
pet. The boat, empty and overturned, ran towards the cataract; 
but near it struggled a man in the midst of the waves, lost with- 
out assistance. They reached out to save the other, who fortu- 
nately was rescued from his very perilous situation. The 
fii-st bridge built upon the Rapids was situated a little higher up, 
aud finished in 1847; it was carried away the following year. 
This one, re-built immediately, seems as if it ought to be able for 




TUE F^\iL AT SUNSET, AMERICUST SIDE. 



a long time to resist the power of the waters. It tenninates at 
Bath Island, the name of which sufficiently indicates the design. 
There, a second' bridge thrown upon a more contracted part of the 
Kapids, forms a continuation to the first, and completes the direct 
communication of the American shore with Iris Island. Above 
and under this bold work, little islands cro^vn with their verdure 
the white shroud of the waters. Old trees, half torn up by the 
curi'cnts, lay in ragged abundance awaiting the wave that must at 
last carry them away. All around is tumult, agitation, tempest. 
The most important of these islands is Prospect Island ; it divides 
in two the American Fall, and is attached to Iris Island by a 
bridge thrown over a sheet of watci", which forms a centre fall. 
Seen from the Canada shore the American Fall docs not appear, 
perhaps, quite so sti*iking in effect — the softness of perspective 
detracting from their boldness. The tower represented in the 
view near Hog's Back, is incessantly assailed by gusts of wind, 
clouds of mist, and tlie subterranean shocks which are felt every- 
where about the cataracts. Following the direction of the winrl, 
it rises above the masses of vapor, or is swathed in their floating 
clouds. These vapors, which invariably veil the foot of the Falls, 
are nowhere so compact and voluminous as in the centre of the 
Horse Shoe. There they assume every form, every aspect, and 
every shade. According to the hour of the day and the condi- 
tions of the atmosphere, they are seen to rise towards the sky like 
a vast column, to spread in disordered 

■ ._ masses, to whirl into infinite spirals, or to 

'^'^P^B. disperse in floating clouds. Sometimes 
- "-- they swell above" the Falls like a sombre 
canopy hanging from the arch of the firm- 
ament; at another time, they poise lightly 
over the rays of the sun, from whicli 
they borrow a golden lustre. Some- 
times the evening twiliglit envelops tbc 
atmospliere of the cataracts in a dust of 
"' : liame nowhere else in nature to be found ; 
and some hours later, in the midst of 
pliantoms of mists, the lunar bow rises 
from the waves in the splendor of the 
night, and binds witli its enamelled scarf 
the light-house, at the foot of which each 
broken wave flings, as it passes by, a ra- 
diant bouquet of diamonds. What hours 
may be passed here and what dreams 
they inspire ! For every soul in which 
the divine spark is kindled, these hours of 
interest are without truce, and these 
dreams without end. In vain, after days 
of contemplation and evenings of enthusi- 
asm, you turn away and slowly seek your 
lodging. By day as by night, in vitiil as 
in sleep, you belong to Niagara, and Niag- 
ara alone. Its giant phantom rises inces- 
santly before your eyes ; its solemn \oicq 
speaks ever in your cars. In proportion 
as all the sounds of liumanitT,- are hushed 
_,;, around you, the ceaseless and lofty hymn 
of the cataracts seizes upon silence. 
Sometimes it mutters like a hundred dis- 
-^ tant tlmnders, in one single note, v:ist as 
heaven ; sometimes it chants, and modu- 
lates ierial harmonies, sweet as the plaints 
of the mildest summer wind. It speaks 
to your awakened soul ; it cradles your 
sleep in dreams. Everywhere at a dis- 
tance the earth vibrates and answers by 
its tliroes to the disturbance of the at- 
mosphere. The bed on which you lie 
quivers, the woodwork creaks, the glass 
jnrs in the sashes ; and when, awakened 
with a start by some dream of tempest, 
you spring up to see from what quarter 
the bolt is about to fall, the stars ai-e 
shining sweetly in the sky, and the flame 
of your night-lamp flickers in the midst of 
the sonorous waves which the echo of 
these strange sounds is bringing to your 
car. Human activity, insatiable in its 
conquestSjhas begirt Niagara with a circle 
of railroads and steamboats ; it has im- 
posed upon it the yoke of its bridges, the 



shame of its factories, and perhaps the day will come when it will 
rob it of its waters, and make them the obedient vassals of indus- 
trial despotism ; .and then the traveller will measure with serene 
eye and sure step those unknown gulfs which our generation con- 
templates from a distance with afjright. We can, of course, say 
nothing new of Niagara. One might as well undertake to write 
about the sun in the way of novelty, it being one of the great and 
wonderful facts of the creation — a wonder of the world. These 
timely scenes will be valuable to our readers, inasmuch as it will 
find large numbers of them on the very spot and amid the scenes 
that we have herewith depicted, while others just about to make 
the journey thither, will read and examine these pages with more 
than ordinary interest ; and when they shall reach the scene, and 
the thunder of the cataract sounds in their ears, they will remem- 
ber our Pictorial, and compare the reality with the counterfeit 
presentment as given in our pages. Well, we know of no more 
delightful pilgrimage than the one thither, or one which seems to 
present more of real attraction and unequalled interest than 
Niagara. No American, who can afford to travel at all, should 
fail to look upon tliis wonder of nature's handiwork. It is almost 
the first resort of the foreign traveller, who is then prepared to 
visit the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, only second in grandeur 
to Niagara. Tlie readers of the Pictorial will remember the series 
of illustrations of the cave which we have already given. 




taiim:: rock. 



33 



GLEASON'S nCTORTAL DnAWIXG TcOOM CO^MPANION. 



[Written for tJlonHon'rt Pictorial.] 
I 'VE BEEN TO THE WOODS. 

nV J. 0. BAKKK. 

J 'vo been to the woods, tho slifidy wililwoodfl, 

Wboro tho I'uiry win^'i'd wphjr.t pliiy i 
^\'liuro the lieu 'h on tho wing, and tlio lust aay of Bprlng 

Ib clinmsd by Buminer Jiway ; 
When) the blackbon-y vine, liko tho ivy, twines 

Hound tho fence, and Is overywiioro ficen ; 
With itH blossomfl ho white, gleaming in tlic Kunlight, 

Liko Huowllakes uiinyling with green. 

I 'to leaped o'er the Btream, and Sttt down to dream, 

■Nciitli tho boughs of the wide-spreading trees ; 
And Tvo thrown ofTniy hat, while enraptured I sat 

To catcli evtry breath of the breozo ; 
And I gazed on the sky etretchiii;'; clearly on high, 

While the feathery clouds I counted ; 
In the broad ligbt of day wati-hcd the wild squirrel play. 

As the trunk of the oak tree he mounted. 

How littlo I thought, when these (lowers I brought, 

And cberished them fondly with care. 
That the white bud would roam from its dark forest home, 

To nestle in fair Ginnie's hair ; 
That Ularia would greet the heliotrope sweet, 

"With a flash which her bright eyes fired. 
And I 'd give Emma, too, with her heart so true, 

Tho blossoms she most adn^ired. 

0, I 'to been to the wootls, the beautiful woods, 

'\\'here I fain would wander ag;iin : 
For I \l rather be there in the pure sweet air, 

Thau roam through these dwellings of men. 
There nature displays to our wondering gaze, 

Her charms 'iieath a garland of flowers ; 
And the bird folds lus wings, and sweetly sings 

A love chant in the shadowy bowers. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

ANNIE SELAVYN: 

— OR — 

THE LOST RING. 

BY HARRIET N. HATHAWAY. 

Brightly stole the .summer suii-sliinetlirough 
tlic .small windows tlint lighted the little apart- 
ment oecupicd by the "widow Sclwyn and her 
three children ; bnt its rays did not fall upon a 
.■-■oft rich carpet, but upon a hard nnpaintcd floor ; 
yet they did not .sliine a wliit the less cheerily, 
for all that. The room was plainly furnished, 
still taste was discernible in its every arrange- 
ment. In one corner stood the neatly made bed, 
covered with its snow-white drapery; and under 
the small glass was an oaken table, polished so 
brightly that you could almost see the reflection 
of your ftice npon its smooth sui-face, and on it 
lay quite a number of prettily though not expen- 
.=ively bound books ; while here and there might 
be seen a few articles of nice fancy work — such 
as tufted mats, clove, and card baskets, small 
shell pyramids; and over the mantel stood a 
porcelain vase of prettily arranged flowers. Two 
beautiful birds, which occupied a cage that hting 
before one of tlie windows, filled the whole apart- 
ment with their melodious warble, occasionally 
pausing as they flitted from side to side of their 
gilded prison-house, to peck and twirl the wires 
that impeded their flight, as though they would 
fain break from their durance and bathe their 
wings in their native element. 

In a large easy chair sat a woman, who, 
though sadly wasted by disease, still bore fi-aces 
of more than ordinary beauty; while at a win- 
dow, seated on a low stool, was a beautiful girl, 
apparently of some eighteen summers, plying 
her needle. Swiftly flew hersmall whitcfingers, 
as she wrought the many richly-colored flosses 
into the costly fabric before her, and bright buds 
and green leaves seemed to spring up at her 
touch, as though by enchantment. Occasionally 
a smile would dimple her fiiir face as she paused 
for a moment to admire the effect of the last 
touch, and then again she would bend to her 
task, if possible with greater alacrity than before. 
"Annie, dear," said Mrs. Selwyn, who had 
been for some moments drowsing, but had now 
awakened, "sewing yet? I should think you 
would be weary ; I fear you will make yourself 
sick, and then I don't know what would become 
of us. Your face is fluslicd, and your eyes look 
heavy ; besides, you have eaten nothing since 
the morning, for there stands your dinner un- 
lasted upon the dresser. Do, child, lay by your 
work at once. It really troubles me to sec you 
confine yourself so closely. " 

" Not quite yet, motlier dear," replied Annie ; 
**just let me flnish this one Inid, and then the 
work is done, and I'm so glad, for I can take it 
to Mr«. Benson to-niglit, and it will bo quite an 
agreeable surprise to her ; for though slic want- 



ed it very much, she did not think it possible for 
ino to comijletc it in so short a time." 

The candle was lighted, and around the small 
tabic were seated Mrs. Selwyn and her two 
younger chihlren — Letta, u dark-eyed girl of 
thirteen, and Charlie, a pale-faced boy of eleven. 

" I'ast eight o'clock," said Mrs. Selwyn, as 
she cast an anxious glance at tlie oM fasliionod 
time-piece tliat ticked ujion the mantel, "and 
Annie not here yet. I do not know where she 
can be so late. Do, Letta dear, run to the street 
(h)or, and see if she is anywhere in sight." 

Letta had just risen to go, when Annie enter- 
ed, her face all radiant with smiles; and without 
pausing to lay aside her hat and shawl, she said, 
as she seated herself; 

" (), mother, you can't think liow delighted 
Mrs. Benson was with my work ! and she says 
she will give me sewing at lier house for three 
long weeks, and only think what a help it would 
be to us. You should have that nice new wrap- 
per which you have so long needed, and Letta 
should have a pair of shoes, and then the poor 
child would not have to be laughed at for wear- 
ing ragged ones, and Charlie should have that 
nice little cap with bright buttons, which he has 
so long wanted." 

" And what would you have, Annie V said 
Mrs. Selwyn, as she gazed with all a mother's 
pride upon the radiant face of the fair speaker. 

" 0, nothing, mother, just now, for I'm not in 
want of anything." 

" I'd rather go without the cap, Annie," said 
Charlie, as he raised his pale face from his geog- 
raphy, "than to have you go away." 

"And I'll go without the shoes," chimed in 
Letta, " and I'll not eare any more if the girls do 
laugh at me, if you'll stay at home, Annie, for 
we shall all be so dreadful k)ncsome." 

" Take good eare of mother, Letta," said An- 
nie, as she lingered at the door, as she was about 
to leave for Mrs. Benson's, " and be sure to show 
Charlie about his lessons, and do not let him go 
late to school ; remember the birds, and don't let 
them go hungry, and look out puss docs not get 
near enough to them to do them harm." 

" yes, Annie, I'll do everything just as you 
always have done," replied Letta, who felt high- 
\y pleased with the prospect of her newly ac- 
quired responsibilities, although she was unfeign- 
edly sorry to have Annie leave home. 

" Come home often, Annie," said Mrs. Sel- 
wyn, "for we shall be lonely — very lonely with- 
out you." 

" Yes, mother, I will, two or thi*ee times in 
the week, perhaps, and then I shall be with you 
all day Sunday." 

It was with a light heart that Annie, after 
having placed her band-box in the pleasant 
chamber allotted to her, seated herself at her 
sewing, and the thought of the comforts her ex- 
ertions would bring to tho loved ones at home, 
lent speed to her fingers, and busily indeed did 
she ply her needle. 

" What beautiful girl is that, sis, who sits sew- 
ing in the sitting-room ?" said Walter Harring- 
ton, to his sister, Mrs. Benson. 

" Annie Selwyn," was the reply ; " and she is 
as gentle and good as she is beautiful, and the 
most expert creature at her needle you ever saw. 
If I could but secure her services, I should think 
myself very fortunate, and if she will consent to 
stay with me, I shall dismiss Eveline." 

Eveline, who was in the next room, heard 
these remarks unknown, and a malignant expres- 
sion passed over her face as she munnurcd to 
herself; " We'll see if I'm to be turned off for 
that pert little hussy ! I'm as good as she is, and 
as sure as my name is Eveline Morse, I'll put a 
stop to this." 

Annie knew nothing as yet of Mrs. Benson's 
intentions, still she felt thci*e was something for- 
bidding in Eveline's manner towards her, but 
what it was she could not tell. 

Mrs. Benson stood before a table, carefully lift- 
ing each article from its place, while each mo- 
ment the evident expression of concern upon her 
face deepened ; and not finding the oliject she was 
in search of there, she commenced looking care- 
fully about the carpet, movuig divans, chairs, 
ottomans, but all to no purpose. At this mo- 
ment she heard Eveline's well-known step in the 
hall, and she exclaimed : 

" Eveline, Eveline, come here, diild ! can you 
tell mc anything of my diamond ring? I'm 
(juite sure that I took it oJT last night after my 
return fVom the opera, and placed it in the small 
box upon the table, and now it is nowhere to Itc 
fuund ; do you not remember of seeing mc do 



" yes, madam, perfectly well ; for I noticed 
particniai-ly the bi'illiant rays reflected from it 
upon ilie table-cover as the light struck upon it." 

" Well, you have been in the room the most 
of the morning; has any one else been in?" 

"Kg, 1 believe not; but yes, now 1 remember 
that just as I came in, I met Annie Selwyn going 
out, and she said as I passed that slie came down 
to look for a pattern that she lost, and asked me 
if I had seen it anywhere, and then she hurried 
up stairs, and the last I saw of her she was in 
her room sewing. But, of course, you cannot 
suspect her, for I do not think she would do such 
a thing, if it was to save her from starving." 

" Walter," said Mrs. Benson, to her brother, 
who had just called in, " I have something of 
imjjortance I would like to say to you, and I 
want it for the present to be strictly confidential. 
I have lost my diamond ring in a mysterious 
manner. I left it upon the table last night when 
I retired, and this morning it is missing, and I 
am quite sure that no one has been in the room 
but Eveline and Annie Selwyn ; and I cannot 
with any reason suspect Eveline, for though she 
has her faults, I have proved her to be strictly 
honest, and would not hesitate at this moment to 
trust her with anything in the house ; and, there- 
fore, I am forced to think that Annie Selwyn 
knows more about this affair than she would 
care to tell. It seems hard that my kindness to 
her should be thus repaid, and when I look into 
her sweet gentle face I can scarce credit my own 
suspicions ; and yet it must be so. I have not 
mentioned a word of this as yet to Mr. Benson, 
for I scarcely dare to, he is so hasty. !Now, 
Walter, I want your candid advice." 

"I must say, Ellen, that it appears highly 
mysterious, but don't be hasty in passing judg- 
ment ; remember the future happiness of this 
young girl is pending upon it, and I am loath to 
think that such a beautiful and innocent exterior 
can hide so base a heart, and, in fact, I will not 
believe this until there is proof, positive, against 
her." 

" I feci all this, Walter, as sensibly as you do, 
but what can I do ^ If it were right for mc to 
do so, I would let it all rest here ; but the ring 
Charles presented me on our wedding night, and 
he would think 1 was strangely iudiflerent to 
take no measures to regain it." 

" True, Ellen, and now I think of it, would it 
not be best to call the girls at once, and inquire into 
the matter ? I will step into the back parlor and 
lemain a silent listener to wdiat passes between 
you." 

Annie and Eveline, in obedience to Mrs. Ben- 
son's summons, soon entered the room, and Mrs. 
Benson, in a voice trembling with emotion, 
said : 

" Girls, I am about to speak with you on a 
subject that is highly painful to me, and I regret 
the urgent necessity that forces me to this step ; 
still, duty to myself, as well as to you, compels 
me to do this." 

" Mrs. Benson," said Eveline, after she had 
concluded her story, "I cannot wonder that the 
disappearance of your ring seems mysterious to 
you ; but, rather than to be in the least implicat- 
ed in so disgraceful an affair, I will allow you to 
search every article that belongs to me, and pre- 
sume Miss Selwyn will consent to do the same 
rather than to have this dark suspicion resting 
upon us." 

Annie had stood silent and almost motionless, 
with her face blanched to an ashy paleness ; but 
now that she was called upon to speak, she said 
in a strangely cold, calm voice : 

" Certainly, Mrs. Benson, if it be your wish ; 
you ai'C at perfect liberty to look over the few 
articles contained in my box ;" and rising, she 
led the way to her chamber, scarce conscious of 
what she was doing. Mrs. Benson and Eveline 
followed, Mrs. Benson half wishing that she had 
remained silent ; but she strove to nerve hex"self 
for the unpleasant task with the thought that 
duty demanded it, at however great a sacrifice of 
feeling. 

The last article but one had been taken from 
Annie's band-box, and Mrs. Benson breathed 
more freely, for she was about convinced of her 
innocence ; but as she lifted the remaining one, 
from its folds fell a small silk purse, and unclasp- 
ing it with trembling hand, .she drew fiom it a 
small package, and tearing from it the wrapper, 
before her sparkled her own diamond ring. 

Annie uttered one wild shriek, as her eye 

rested upon it, and she would have fallen to the 

floor had it not been for the timely assistance of 

Eveline. It was some time before the unhappy 

I girl was restored to consciousness ; and when 



she revived, llic first words that escaped her lips 
— all pale and quivering witli tlic intcn.-vjiy of her 
anguish — were : 

" O my poor, poor mother! how will she bear 
this ? 1 fear it will kill her ; but God knows my 
innocence, and this thought shall console me." 

" Poor canting hypocrite !" muttered Eveline, 
while a malignant smile lighted her large dark 
eyes, " her piety has come loo late to save her." 

We will not stay to relate the conversation 
that passed between Mrs. Benson and Annie ; 
but simply say that ere the afternoon had closed, 
Annie had received her dues, and with a trem- 
bling step, and a well nigh breaking heart, was 
threading her way through the crowded streets 
to her mother's humble dwelling. 

"Why, Annie, child, what has brought you 
home to-night ?" exclaimed Mrs. Selwyn, as she 
entered their small apartment; "we were not 
looking for you. But how pale you look, and 
I'm quite sure you have been weeping. Do tell 
me, dear, what is it troubles you ?" 

" O, mother, mother!" cried Annie, as she 
threw her unns around her neck, and nestled her 
throbbing head upon her bosom, " I must tell 
you all, or my heart will surely break. Only (o 
think of it, I have brought min and disgrace 
upon you — upon us all ! Mrs. Benson has lost 
a diamond ring, and she found it in my purse ; 
how it come there I cannot tell ; but though 
there is no possible way for rae to prove my in- 
nocence, yet there is One who knows it. O, how 
ungi'atcful she thinks me, thus to repay her many 
kindnesses ! and how she wept when she pressed 
my hand, just before I left ! and her voice cjuiv- 
ered as she said: 'Annie, I pity you from my 
heart, I do.' Don't blame her, mother, she can- 
not help thinking me guilty; and yet, I would 
far rather have died. I wish I could die now, 
mother, O, I really do !" 

When Annie had concluded her mournful re- 
cital, the mother and daughter blent their tears 
in silence ; for it is such a luxury to weej) ! 
such a relief to the aching, overcharged heart ! 
At length Mrs. Selwyn said ; 

"Annie, my child, this is to us a dark, inscni- 
table providence ; but there may yet be light be- 
hind the cloud. Let us not lose our confidence 
in God, for has he not promised never to forsake 
those who tnist in hira ? In this trying hour, 
human consolation can avail us nothing. Let 
us, my child, seek strength and comfort from 
above." 

The sable curtain of night had fallen around 
the earth, and the busy hum of the passers-by had 
ceased. Hushed were the strains of mirth, and 
sounds of revehy; but in that lonely apartment 
of woe and sorrow, might have been seen, at that 
late hour, that heart-stricken mother and daugh- 
ter low upon their bendedknees, communing with 
that Being who never slumbers nor sleeps. 
Could Annie's accusers but have seen that aged 
mother, and viewed the holy light that irradiated 
her face, as she prayed for those wdio had brought 
this great and terrible trouble upon them ; could 
they have looked upon the beautiful " madonna" 
like expression of the upturned face of the fair 
young creature by her side, and have heard the 
fervent responses that fell from her quivering 
lips, they would have felt that she was all too 
pure to be guilty of so dark a crime. 

The evening after the departure of Annie 
from Mrs. Benson's, that lady and her husband 
were seated in their luxuriously furnished apart- 
ment. At length the gentleman raised his eye 
from the paper that he had been perusing, and 
gazing silently and intently upon the face of his 
young wife for a moment, said : 

"Ellen, you look very sad; what troubles 
you ?" 

" Not sadder than I feel, Charles," was the re- 
joinder. " I am thinking about poor Annie Sel- 
wyn; I have striven all the evening to banish 
her from my thoughts, but her pale sad face is 
constantly before me." 

" 0, Ellen, you are quite too sensitive. For 
my own part, instead of reproaching yourself, I 
think you may take considerable credit for let- 
ting her off so easily. If I'd had my say about 
the affair, she should have been made a public 
example, and I'm not sure but in the end it 
would have been better for her. She reminds 
me of the story of the viper that tumed and 
stung the hand of the one who had kindly nour- 
ished it. Now, pray do cheer uj), Ellen dear, 
and think no more about the girl, for she is un- 
worthy of your thoughts." 

" Well, God grant that her innocence may yet 
be proved," said Mrs. Benson, as she sighed 
heavily, and then relapsed into her former mus- 
ng mood. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



39 



Weeks came and went, but they brought no 
token for good to the stricken heart of Annie 
Sclwyn ; but each day the shadow rested darker 
around her path. 

"Mr. Harrington," said a little boy, who had 
long resided in the family of Mr. Benson, ad- 
dressing Mrs. Benson's brother, Walter, " I have 
something I want to tell you, and so I followed 
you into the garden. I have thought I would 
tell you a g-ood many times, but have not dared 
to ; but last week when Mrs. Benson sent me to 
carry some patterns to Annie Selwyn — you know 
her, Mr. Harrington, the girl who sewed at the 
house — she came to the door when I knocked, 
and O, how she looked, so white and thin ! and 
when she spoke to me, her voice was so low and 
sad that it made the tears come into my eyes, 
and I had to hurry away without speaking, for 
my throat swelled and swelled, so that I could 
not say a word, and when I got away where 
there couldn't anybody see me, O, how I cried ! 
and then my throat didn't ache so anymore, 
and that day I made up my mind that I would 
tell you all, the first chance I could get." 

" Well, my boy, go on," said Walter, as he 

laid his hand caressingly upon his head, and 

smoothed bis damp, dark locks. " Come into 

the summer-house, and then we shall be out of 

■ sight; and don't be afraid to tell me all." 

" Well, then," said the boy; you know while 
Annie Selwyn was here, Mi'S. Benson lost her 
diamond ring, and it was found in her purse, 
and so all the folks believed she stole it. Well, 
that morning — are you quite sure there's no one 
to hear me. Mi-. Harrington ? — as I passed her 
room door, which stood open, I saw Miss Eve- 
line bending over her band-box, and when she 
found that I saw her, her face at first was mighty 
pale, and then red, and as she came towards me, 
a small green purse dropped from her hand, and 
a ring rolled out of it upon the floor. She picked 
it up quick, and then said : 

" ' Henry, if you wont tell what you have seen, 
I'll give you this silver half dollar ; come, pro- 
mise me now, that's a good boy-' 

" ' I don't want the money,' said I, * and I 
guess I sha'n't promise ;' for I never did much 
like Eveline, she was so spiteful. 

"'Well, do as you please, Master Henry,' 
said she, looking at me so ugly with her great 
black staling eyes that it quite frightened me ; 
' but if you dare to tell, I'll be the means of your 
leaving this house, and that aint all.' 

" This made me afraid not to promise, and so 
I did ; and when I heard the servants say that 
Annie Selwyn had stolen the ring, I thought if 
I was only to tell what I knew, it might help to 
prove that she did not stejiil it, and I knew I 
ought to, but somehow I could not find courage ; 
but the other day when I saw her looking so al- 
tered, it made me think all about how kind she 
was to me, just as gentle as if she had been my 
sister, and T made up my mind to tell everything 
I knew about the ring, in spite of Miss Eveline." 

" I am sorry that you did not come to this de- 
termination before. But you may go now, and 
mind that you do not breathe a word of this to 
any one, until called upon, and then do not be 
afraid, but relate the story you have told me, 
and I assure you no harm shall come to you, my 
boy." 

"O, Walter, Walter!" cried Mrs. Benson, 
when he had related to her the conversation that 
had passed between himself and Henry, "only 
to think what that poor girl has suffered ! I will 
call Eveline at once, and make her confess all. 
Heaven be praised, it is not too late to make res- 
titution, in part, to poor Annie Selwi.-n !" 

Consternation was written upon Eveline's 
every feature, as Henry proceeded, at the request 
of Mrs. Benson, to relate the facts in regard to 
the ring ; and the girl seeing no chance for es- 
cape, at once o^\^led her guilt, and the motives 
that induced her to commit the heartless deed. 

The lamp burned dimly in the apartment of 
widow Selwyn, and its flickering rays fell upon 
the pale face of the mother, who was hanging 
over the bed on which Annie was lying, tossing 
from side to side, and occasionally moaning 
piteously. 

" Mother," she at length said, " what is to be- 
come of us ? I heard you tell Lctt^i you was 
burning your only candle, and that yoiu" last 
stick of wood was upon the fire. Besides, you 
had but a fourpenny loaf of bread in the house." 
" This is all true, Annie ; but I comfort my- 
self with the thought that our Heavenly Father 
* sufFereth not even a sparrow to fall to the 
ground without liis notice ;' and docs he not still 
' temper the wind to the shorn lamb V I verily 



beliei'C this, and I will trust him though, he hides 
his fiice from me." 

*' Your words sound very sweet and cheering 
to me, mother," replied Annie, as she turned 
upon her pillow and closed her eyes, and in a 
few moments was in a gentle slumber. 

A gentle tap at the door soon called Sirs. Sel- 
wyn from her post, and hastening to open it, be- 
fore her stood Mrs. Benson and Walter Har- 
rington. 

"Is Annie Selwyn within'?" was the inquiry 
that greeted her. 

" She is," was the response of Mi's. Selwyn, 
as she pointed towards the bed. Mrs. Benson's 
heart was full. As she bent over the emaciated 
form of Annie, and stood gazing silently upon 
the pale face before her, she suddenly unclosed 
her eyes, and looking steadily at Mrs. Benson 
for a moment, she extended her hand, and a 
sweet smile played over her countenance as she 
exclaimed : 

" It is indeed Mi-s. Benson ! O this is very, 
very kind of you !" 

For some moments Mrs. Benson's tears fell 
thick and fast upon the little thin and almost 
transparent hand, resting so confidingly in her 
o^Ti, and at length she said : 

"Annie, will you, can you forgive me all the 
bitter injustice I have unintentionally done you ? 
Many and many a sleepless night have I spent 
since the unhappy affair in regard to my diamond 
ring, thinking of you ; and if ever I raised a 
grateful prayer to God, it was that hour that 
brought proof of your perfect innocence." 

Readily did Annie extend forgiveness to Mrs. 
Benson ; and as Walter Harrington sat a silent 
and unseen listener to the words that fell from 
Annie Selw}Tx's lips, he brushed the tears from 
his eyes ever and anon, for he had never wit- 
nessed so holy and touching a display of Chris- 
tian humility and forbearance. 

The widow's prayer that night was as a song 
of praise ; and words would be inadequate to 
describe the secret happiness that was nestling 
in the silent depths of Annie Selwyn's heart. 

Firm and unchanging was die friendship that 
Mrs. Benson now felt for the sewing girl, hum- 
ble and unpretending as she was ; and it was 
among the happiest moments of her life when 
Walter Harrington claimed her as his wife, and 
took her to his own beautiful home — the home 
that was now to afford a refuge for 'Mis. Selwyn, 
Letta and Charlie; and whenever Annie reverted 
to the disappearance of the diamond ring, and 
the train of circumstances connected with it, she 
would recall her mother's words : " Annie, ray 
child, ti-ust in God ; there may yet be light be- 
hind the cloud." 



[Written for Glcason's Pictorial.] 
SONNET. 

DY KENNETH SINCLAIR. 

A pledge of love and faith, my precious ring. 

I wear thee, gift of one who lovea nie well : 

Thy beauty, thy worth, my song cannot tell, 
For though thou art a tiny little thing, 
Affection doth a halo round thee fling. 

Thy circlet hath for me a magic spell, 
Still closely to my finger shalt thou cling, 

■\Vhile thought and memory in my bosom dwell ; 
As oft thy golden baud arrests mine eye, 

5Iy heart turns back unto the long past day 
When first fond love sprang up, ne'er to die I 

For her, my youthful friend, so far awaj-, 
"Who counts the tedious hours flitting by, 

Ere we may meet, to part no more for aye. 



POETS m A PUZZLE. 

I led the horse to the stable, when a fresh per- 
plexity arose. I removed the harness without 
difficulty ; but, after many strenuous attempts, I 
could not remove the collar. In despair, I called 
for assistance, when aid soon drew near. Mr. 
Wordsworth brought his ingenuity into exercise ; 
but, after several unsuccessful efforts, he relin- 
quished the achievement, as a thing altogether 
inipractical)lc. Mr. Coleridge now tried his 
hand, but showed no more grooming skill than 
his predecessors; for after twisting the poor 
horse's neck almost to strangulation, and tlie 
great danger of his eyes, he gave up the useless 
task, pronouncing that the horse's head must 
have (jroirn (gout or dropsy) since the collar was 
put on ; for he said " it was a downriglit impos- 
sibility for such a huge osfrontis to pass through 
so naiTow a collar !" Just at this instant a ser- 
vant girl came near, and, understanding the 
cause of our consteraation, "La, master," said 
she, "yon don't go about the work in the right 
way. You should do like this ;" when, turning 
the collar completely upside down, she slipped 
it off in a moment, to our great humiliation and 
wondcnnent ; each satisfied afresh that there were 
heights of knowledge in the world to which we 
had not yet attained. — Cottle's Life of Coleridge. 

sin, what hast thou done to this fair earth ! 

Dana. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
BIRDS. 

BY JOSEPH U. BUTLER. 

Ay I I ever have loved those minstrels mid. 
And jo3"ed in their music when I was a child ; 
When the spring came forth ^rith her early flowers, 
And the birds and the blossoms were on the bowers ; 
Through the woods and the meadows I wandered away, 
AVhere the tall trees were watching the streams at play ; 
Where the violet opened its sweet blue eye, 
Hid deep in the grass — it was so shy ! 

Where the primrose looked out from the mossy dell, 
On its beautiful neighbor, the sweet blue-bell; 
The wild bee was out with its musical fling, 
And its troubadour-soQg to the lovely spring. 
Away, away, through the wildwood green, 
To the meiTy dance of the young May queen ; 
irhcrevcr my footsteps can wander free, 
The birds sing my welcome from every tree. 

Their melody floats on the gentle air, 

I fancy that spirits fi-om heaven are there ; 
Singing on, singing on in innocent mirtb, 
To lighten the sorrows and cares of earth. 
Beautiful creatures of gladness and light, 
With your wiugs of a hundi-ed colors bright ; 
\Micrever I wander, wherever I dwell. 

Ye are there with your happy songs as well. 

Ye build on the tree-top and lowly land, 
On the cottage eve and the mansion grand ; 
By the stream and the ocean I hear your lays, 
In the stilly setting of summer days. 
In the solemn homes of the voiceless dead. 
Your notes are warbled — your wings outspread ; 
Ye flit ,around o'er the pale, cold stone, 
Where tlie dead are sleeping still and lone. 

Yes, I have loved you from boyhood's hour. 
And dear to me yet is the bird and the flower ; 
The proud-crested eagle, the lord of the air. 
Sits throned like a king on the granite bare ; 
He flaps his wings, and with thrilling cry 
He mounts where the sun is blazing high ; 
On tireless pinions, proudly and grand, 
Bold emblem, he, of our native land- 

1 love to see his piercing eye, 

And list to his fierce and startling cry ; 
Birds I ye are beautiful all I see the dove, 

how soft her eyes, like a maiden's love '■ 
And even on ocean's flashing foam, 
Where the gull and the petrel find a home ; 

1 joy to watch them wheel and fly 
Over the bursting billows high. 

But there 'a a fairy-Uke creature bright, 
Who charms me oft «ith its glorious eiglit ; 
Its wings are dyed in the hues of heaven. 
It seems a gift by spirits given. 
lu summer's long day, the music is heard 
Of the bright and beautiful hununiog-hird ; 
Birds of the forest I ye are happy and free, 
Sporting and singing from tree to tree ! 

Your light hearts know not sorrow or care, 

Happy ones of the pathless air ; 

But winter will come, and you will depart 

Like the cherished joys of the human heart. 

Ye will fly to a distant region fair, 

And sing your welcome wood-notes there ; 

0, when the ■winter of death shall come, 

And my heart shall rest iu the silent tomb. 

Birds of the woodlands I ye fairy-Uke things. 
Over my grave spread your beautiful wings ; 
When the wild flowers peep from my couch of sleep, 
Your vigils round my slumbers keep ; 
And soar and sing in the blessed sun , 
Rejoice that my pilgrimage is done ; 
Bid me '■ rest in peace " on the flowery sod, 
Then warble an anthem to nature's God 1 



THE LAUGHING JACKASS. 

He commences, tlien, by a low cackling sound, 
gradually growing louder, like that of a Jien in a 
fuss. Then, suddenly changing his note, he so 
closely imitates Puncli's penny tiumpet that you 
would almost swear it was indeed the jolly " roo- 
to-too " of that public favorite you heard. Next 
comes the j^rolonged bray of an ass, done to the 
life ; followed by an articulate exclamation, ap- 
parently addressed to the listener, sounding very 
like "U what a Guy!" And the whole winds 
up with a suppressed chuckle, ending in an up- 
roarous burst of laughter which is joined in by a 
dozen others hitherto sitting silent. It is im- 
possible to hear with a grave face the jocularities 
of this feathered jester. In spite of all reason- 
ing I could never help feeling that it was m^'^self 
he was quizzing! — Oni Antipodes, hy Col. Miindij. 

PUMSHMENT IIV SUMATR.\. 

The natives put the criminal into a hole, tie 
both his liands, and make him kneel do^Mi. The 
executioner then stabs him witli a spear on the 
left shoulder, the criminal's hands are loosened, 
and the executioner jumps upon him, pres.ses 
him into the hole and covers him over with earth 
instantaneously. If two people fight, and blood 
is drawn on the head, the party who has inilicted 
the wound pays eight doUai's, a goat, one eabong 
of white cloth, and a bundle of seree ; the goat is 
sacrificed, and the priests are assembled to pray. 
If the body is wounded, the fine is four dollars, 
a fowl, yellow rice and seree. For smaller 
offences, flogging with a rattan is the usual pun- 
ishment. — Anderson. 

For most men (till by losing rendered sager). 

Will back their own opinions \vith a wager. — Bijroti . 



AYARICE Ol'TWITTED. 

The case of John Eyre, Esq., who, though 
worth upwards of £30,000 was convicted at the 
Old Bailey, and sentenced to transportation, was 
rendered more memorable by the opportunity 
which it gave Junius to impeach the integrity of 
Lord Mansfield, who was supposed to have erred 
in admitting him to bail. An anecdote is related 
of Mr. Eyre, which shows in a stiiking manner 
tlie depravity of his heart, and may help to ac- 
count for the meanness of the crime of which he 
was convicted. An uncle of his, a man of very 
considerable property, made his will in favor of 
a clergyman, wlio was his intimate friend, and 
committed it, unknown to the rest of the family, 
to his custody. However, not long before his 
death, having altered his mind with regard to 
the disposal of his wealth, he made another will, 
in which he left the clergyman only £500, leav- 
ing the bulk of his large property to his nephew 
and heir-at-law, Mr. Eyre. Soon after the old 
gentleman's death, Mr. Eyre, rummaging over 
his drawers, found this last will, and perceiving 
the legacy of £500 in it for the clergyman, with- 
out any hesitation or scruple of conscience, put 
it in the fire, and took possession of the whole 
effects, in consequence of his uncle's being sup- 
posed to have died intestate. The clergyman 
coming to town soon after, and inquiring into 
the circumstances of his old friend's death, asked 
him if he had made any will before he died ; on 
being answered hy Mr. Eyre in the negative, the 
clergyman very coolly put his hand in his pocket, 
and pulled out the former will, which had been 
committed to his care, in which Mr. Eyre had 
bequeathed him the whole of his fortune, 
amounting to several thousand pounds, except- 
ing a legacy of £500 to his nephew. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
TO A BRIDE. 

BT OWEN G. TTAEBES. 

Well, thou art lost — and now the world 

Assumes another form ; 
The sun that cheered my lonely way, 

Is veiled in cloud and storm. 
My path was bright, for on it beamed 

A ray supremely fair ; 
But darkness now is on that path, 

The darkness of despair. 

The world to me is now a blank, 

As when to it I came ; 
I pause, and doubt, if on its face 

I ought to write my name. 
All things seem new, and I must now 

Forget the painful past; 
And now begin the new career, 

Where fate my lot has cast. 

I know thou canst not soon forget 

The tie that bound our souls ; 
And it will stronger bind us yet. 

Though sundered as the poles. 
And though another press thee now, 

Thy thoughts will sometimes turn 
To him in whose unchanging heart 

31ore during feelings burn. 

A CHARACTER. 

" Old Bumblebee " was the cognomen of Mr. 
T., of Newhuiyport. He gained the title from 
the fact of his catching a bumblebee one day as 
he was shingling his barn, and iu attempting to 
destroy the insect with his hatchet, cut oft' the 
ends of his thumb and forefinger, letting the in- 
sect go unharmed. Other misJiaps happened to 
the old codger, on the same barn. In one of his 
abstractions, lie shingled over his spare hatchet ; 
and cutting a small aperture in the building to 
let a little daylight in, this man actually set in a 
wooden pane, as being economical and not like- 
ly to he broken ! Uncle T., in one of his obliv- 
ious freaks, nailed his left ai-m so firmly betwixt 
two boards of a fence he was putting up, that he 
had to call for help to get extricated from his 
self-imprisonment. He once put a button on the 
gate instead of the post. But the rarest freak of 
all was, when he ran tlirough the streets witli 
his hands about three feet asunder, held before 
him, begging the passers-by not to disturb him, 
as he had got the measure of a doonvay with him ! 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
YIELD NOT TO SADNESS. 

BY VriLLIAH T. HU.SEE. 

When care's grim spectres round thy pathway flit, 

And hope obscures her soul-enlivening ray ; 
do not with dejected spirit sit, 

And breathe in plaints the lagging hours away. 
For all must through affliction's ordeal pass. 

Must scale life's barriers, though cragged and high ; 
Must onward wend o'er highl.and and morass, 

Yet ye need not emit the h.Tpless sigh. 

List 1 birds are wartiling in yon sylvan glen, 

And gorgeous flowers are carpeting the earth ; 
Raise high hope's standard, and thy heart shall then 

Participate in joyousness and mirtb ; 
be not sad, for nature aU rejoices. 

And teeming plenty crowns the vale and lea ; 
Hark! hark 1 the groves resound with sweetest voices, 

how, how can ye unhappy be \ 



All our trials and soitows have elements of 
good in them ; hopeful features which smile upon 
us in gentle reproof of our unbelief and discour- 
agement. Now and then, as the swift shuttle 
passes, we catch glimpses of bright threads weav- 
ing themselves into the dark web of our affliction. 



4i) 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING llOCWI COMPANION. 




EXTElUOil VIEW OF TIIE UNITED STATES MINT, PHILADELPHIA. 



UNITED STATES MINT, PinLADELPIIIA. 

On this and the following page, we give some 
very fine scenes descriptive of the United States 
Mint at I*hiladclphia. They are given with 
great accuracy and beauty by oui- artist, Mr. 
Devereaux. Upon the last page are also two 
other engi'avings, by the same artist, represent- 
ing the Coin Press, and the beautiful steam en- 
gine mentioned below. Tlic United States Mint 
was founded in 1790, and the, business of coining 
commenced in 1793, in the building occupied at 
present by the Apprentices' Library. It was re- 
moved in 1830 to the fine building it now occu- 
pies in Chestnut street above Olive street. The 
edifice is of white marble, and the north front 
opposite to Penn square is 123 feet long, with 
a portico 60 feet long, of six Ionic cohimns, 
and the soutli front on Chestnut street has a 
similar portico. Since the enormous influx of 
gold from California, the United States Mint has 
become an object of more than common attention 
and interest, and tlie place is usually filled with 
visitors, watching the various processes which 
the metal goes through before it comes out a 
finished coin. The ma- 
chinery and apparatus 
by which tliese are ac- 
complished are of the 
most complete and per- 
fect character. The 
rooms in wliich the 
smelting, refining and 
alloying are done, are 
spacious apartments, in 
which a large number 
of workmen are cm- 
]jloyed. Heaps of the 
rich ores are to be seen 
laying around, as they 
were extracted from the 
mines, or gathered in 
dust from the sands of 
the mountain streams 
of California. Bars of 

the pure metal, repre- 
senting many thousand 

dollars in value, arc 

passing through hands 

which, like those of 

Midas, seem to turn 

what tlicy touch into 

gold. The heat of this 

place is insufferable ; 

fires glow witli the in- 
tensity of those in u 

foundry ; the men are 

as smutched and dust- 

begrimmed as those in 

a smithery ; there is a 

suffocating sensation of 

hot air, steam and per- 

."ipiration penetrating 

the atmosphere, which 

is anything but pleasant 

to experience, when the 

thermometer is palpita- 
ting under a Hummer 

temperature. Crucibles 

arc handled witli iron 

tong6 and cotton mit- 



tens, the metal is shaped into bai's and then re- 
duced to the requisite fineness. All this takes 
place in one apartment. In another, there is a 
most beautiful steam-engine [sec last page], 
which drives the rolling and stamping machinery. 
This engine is of one hundred horse power, and 
works the rolls, draw-benches, and cutting press- 
es. It is called a steeple-engine, and has two 
cylinders. It is worked by boilers forty feet in 
length, and forty inches in diameter, which also 
works a ten horse and five horse engine, in the 
separating and cleaning apartments. This main 
engine is of the most elegant workmanship, pol- 
ished like a piece of cutlery, and works without 
the least perceptible jar. ITrom this room the 
visitor walks into that where the rolling machines 
are at work, turning out the metal to the proper 
degree of thickness which each particular de- 
nomination of coin requires. The metal is oast 
into ingots 14 inches in length, and about 5-8ths 
in thickness ; they are then rolled to very near the 
proper thickness, when they are passed through 
the draw-benches to equalize them ; the strips 
are then cut at the presses ; these presses cut out 



from two hundred to two hundi*ed aud sixty a 
minute. There are fourteen men employed in this 
room — two for each pair of rolls. The pieces cut 
then pass to the Adjusting Room. Here each piece 
is weighed separately and adjusted witli a file. 
Light and inipcrrcct pieces are re-melted. There 
are fifty-four females employed in this room. 
The pieces are then taken to the Milling and 
Coining Eoom. Tlicre are from two hundred 
to four hundred milled in a minute, according 
to their size. In another apartment the coins 
are cut witli a punch the desired si-ce and then 
stamped. The coins are placed by a person 
seated at tlic machine, in a perpendicular tube, 
down which they descend, one at a time, being 
seized as tlicy drop, by a part of the machinery, 
which pushes the coin under the stamp, whence 
it falls under the machine into a glass-covered 
box. This part of the process used in former 
years to be performed by a press, which still re- 
mains in tlie buikling, worked by a lever and 
screw, requiring eight men to laboriously work 
at it ; now the process requires scarcely any 
manual labor but handling the pieces of coin. 




ADJUSTING ROOM OF THE UJNITED STATES MINT, ITHLADELITIIA. 



The rapidity with which the pieces are executed 
is surprising — being at the rate of from seventy- 
five to two hundred per minute. Cents, dollars, 
eagles, double eagles are turned out with equal 
facility, the process being the same in all. Some 
idea of the extensiveness of these operations, and 
of the metalliferous fecundity of the gold pos- 
sessions of the United States, may he had, when 
it is stated that in one mouth, lately, nearly 
three millions of pieces, gold, silver and copper, 
were coined, and that nearly four millions in 
value are coined eveiy month. In addition to 
the other attractions of the Mint, there is a most 
extensive cabinet of coins, ancient and modem 
(Roman, Greek, Chinese, European), which is 
one of the greatest of curiosities, probably to be 
met with no wliere else in the country. The offi- 
cers of the Mint are polite and attentive to visit- 
ors, and endeavor to make their visit one of ia- 
stiTietion as well as amusement. It is under the 
very effective management of Mr. Dale, the 
director. We have more than ordinary satisfac- 
tion in presenting so very fine a series of engrav- 
ings as those we give of the U. S. Mint in the 
present number. They 
are critically correct, 
and our readers may 
i-ely upon their truthful- 
ness, as our artist, Mr. 
Devereaux, passed no 
inconsiderable period of 
time in making the ne- 
cessary drawings for the 
series, within the walls 
of the Mint, assisted by 
the gentlemanly and ur- 
bane director and ofli- 
cers of the institution. 
The subject is a national 
one, and of interest to 
all, and is of a character 
such as we shall con- 
tinue to give from time 
to time in the pages of 
the Pictorial. Scenes 
thus depicted by a series 
of good engravings, have 
additional interest and 
value from the thorough 
manner in which the 
artist is enabled to treat 
the subject. Any of our 
readers who may now 
happen to visit Phila- 
delphia, will go to the 
Mint under standingly, 
and can there test the 
ti'uthfulncss of our illus- 
trations, and at the same 
time doubly enjoy the 
subjects of investigation 
in this interesting insti- 
tution, from having been 
hereby familiarized with 
the operations, the ma- 
chinery, and the appear- 
ance of the internal eco- 
nomy of the Mnit — one 
of tiie largest in the 
world. 



GLEASON'S PICTOEIAL DRAWING ROOM COIMPANION. 



41 



ST0R3I AT SEA. 

Tlie following very 
good description of a 
Htorm at sea, and esti- 
mate of the height of 
waves, is coramiinicated 
to the Scientific ^Vmcri- 
can, by C. E. M. Wall ; 
" Seeing an account a 
few days ago, in the 
Jonrnal of Commerce, 
about the height of 
waves, etc., it at once 
appeared to me the in- 
formation was not de- 
rived from the proper 

\ source to be published 

\ in this enlightened age, 
for no person of tru3 
science would assume 
to know and give the 
depth of waves alone, 
without giving the ter- 
rific action and appear- 
ance of the ocean, when 
the tempestuous blasts 
and billows are at their 
heights, the latter being 
far the most magnificent 
and interesting. There 
is no class of seamen 
more exposed or expe- 
rienced than whalemen, 
in rough weather and 
stormy seas; other class- 
es seldom 'lay to' long 
enough to weather out 
a storm, which com- 
monly lasts three day?, 
in seas tei-med ' outside 
of land.' The first day 
of the gale there is a 
short cutting sea, with 
numerous white caps 
seen in every direction, 
a spray now and then 

dashing violently over the bows, and appearing 
very much like a severe storm on Lake Erie. 
The taking in of light sails, lowering of yards, 
lashing and securing boats, bolting down the 
hatches, etc., are characteristics of the first day. 
Before dawn of the second day, the large sails 
are all furled, and the storm sails set, which con- 
sist of two or more small sails, one at each mast, 
close to the deck, which serve to keep the ship 
steady. The ship is now Maying to,' the helm 
is lashed, and the watch on deck takes refuge on 
the weather quarter. The seas now assume every 
variety of shape, the entire surface being cov- 
ered with white foam, tossing, boiling and hiss- 
ing, every sea threatening to overwhelm the ship, 
and frequently appearing on a level with the 
topmast head, and cannot be less than forty feet 
high. The best sea legs on board cannot now 
cross the deck without grasping and holding 
with the hands. The gale is now blowing so 
severely that an old sailor told me I could not 
go upon the weather rigging without creeping 
between the flaws of wind ; here was every 
chance for exerting strength with hands and feet. 
I tried, and found his statement correct. With- 




PKESSING AND IMILLING llOOJM OF THE U. S. MtNT, PHILADELPHIA. 



out giving any account of the terrors or dangers 
of each night, or of wearing ship, I wmU go to the 
third day, the wind continuing from one point. 
The seas at this time are running parallel with 
each other, and are much heavier and broader 
than the day before, being perfectly smooth, of a 
deep blue color, and very uniform, many of 
them forming one vast billow, reaching from ho- 
rizon to horizon, and running at the rate of 
twenty miles per hour. About every eighth sea 
is much larger than the rest, and assumes a lofty 
and tcn-ific appearance, and finally curls and 
breaks, actually overtaking the billow in advance, 
and using it as a ground floor to roll upon, leav- 
ing a white scroll of foam across the ocean far 
as the eye can reach, and making a noise like 
the roaring of distant thimdcr. This sight has 
never yet been pictured by the hand of an artist ; 
a skiif may now ride in perfect safety on the in- 
termediate seas, but the staunchest ship ever 
made cannot get a blow from one of these bx-eak- 
ers, without getting more or less injured. 

During a voyage of twenty-three months in. 
the ship Candace, of New London, wc were in 
several of these storms, and only on one occasion 



one of these seas broke square on us. We were 
rising out of the trough of the sea, when the 
breakers, as it were, dropped down on us ; the 
third mate gave the alarm — the top ridge was 
seen curling do^vn, midway between the fore and 
fore-topmast yards, a distance of twenty-five feet 
from tlie deck. The sea, pressing downwards, 
waslied the men in a wedging fonn, some under 
coils of rigging, others between the pumps and 
behind the spars, and some with difficulty with- 
drew themselves from the crevices they had been 
forced into. The sea broke the starboard bul- 
warks fore and aft, breaking fifteen white oak 
stanchions, ten inches square, short off, parting 
the iron of the main chains, sweeping two valu- 
able whale boats, davits, lashings and all, by the 
board, and leaving us a wreck for several days. 
Counting the body of the ship ten feet out of 
watei', and that it had risen five feet from the 
bottom of the trough, it would leave a sea of 
forty feet. During the same voyage in the In- 
dian Ocean, we saw a large class merchantman 
to the leeward of us ; it was not then blowing 
sti'ong, but a heavy sea was running ; our cap- 
tain chose to run down and speak her; she was 



sailing on the wind and 
starboard tack; when 
getting on a line with 
her course we luflcd on 
the larboard tack, which 
left her on our starboard 
one point, and about 
six hundred yards dis- 
tant. Both ships were 
now nearing each other, 
and both settled down 
in the trough of the sea 
simultaneously ; the 
merchantman, evident- 
ly alarmed at our near 
approach, ran off two 
points ; this caused her 
to follow nearly in a line 
of the ti'ough of the sea, 
and her entire masts 
were completely out of 
sight at least twenty 
seconds. Both ships 
came up side by side, 
one sea distant, and 
spoke each other. The 
merchantman was full 
rigged, having royal 
masts and sails set; her 
mast, from the top of the 
main royal, was judged 
by the officers and crew 
to be ninety feet to the 
main deck ; her body 
out of water ten feet, 
her masts inclined 4.^ 
degrees, would leave a 
sea of fifty feet. This 
caused much wonder, 
even to the old sailors, 
it being a sight seldom 
seen, and was witnessed 
by the whole crew of 
thirty-four men, at the 
dog watch, at six o'clock 
in the afternoon. This 
sight cannot be witnessed only on like occasions, 
which of course are very rare ; but still will prove 
that the height of waves is sometimes as great as 
luis been represented by those who have been 
placed in scenes of extraordinai-y tempest." 



[See p. 40 for description.] 



THE WAR IN SOUTH AFRICA. 

An English soldier writes from South Afiica : 
" We have fought twenty-three days out of thir- 
ty-seven, and rested the remainder. The ground 
the enemy occupies consists of twenty square 
miles, very large rocks and ravines, and heavy 
bush. We are almost naked, by our clothes be- 
ing torn off om- backs in scouring through the 
bush. We have to mend them with pieces of 
sheepskin with the wool on them, or from our 
comrades' clothes who are killed in the bush. If 
you were to see us you would not know what 
we were — red jackets mended with black cloth, 
and patches of all descriptions, and our faces 
black with the hot-burning sun ; but thanks to a 
kind Providence, we have plenty to eat. My 
comrade was wounded the last day we were fight- 
ing. He was shot through both legs above the 
knees, but he is doing vicU.." English paper. 




GENEKAL PRESSING AKD CUTTLSfG ROOM OF THE UNITED STATES MINTj PHILADELPHIA. 



[See p. 40 for UeBcnption.] 



42 



GLEASON'S I'lCTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



[Written for Gleoflon'B Pictorial.] 
TO ANNA. 

BY ELLEN LOUIHE CllANDLKll. 

I '11 sing tlico a song, HWcot Annn, 

Now tho fitura nre Bliiniiig bi-l;,'ht, 
Ami tho moon goes Biniliiig by iiio, 

With a diiliqucscont liglit ; 
Ana thu ftiiricrt ou tlio liill-Kiao, 

Antl tho brownies in tho ilull, 
Aro tripping along to the muHio 

Of the valloj-lily bt;!!— 
Now tho HUtiny day has roHtoJ 

Her lieiid ou the night's soft breawt, 
And tho ungels aro climbing the cloud-Htairs, 

That hang in the misty west ; 
And the silver threads of the moouliglit, 

Like an infant's tresses, swcci) 
All over tho glade's green bosom, 

And over tho dingle deep. 

I '11 ping theo a song, my Annn, 

Of the days all golden and fitir, 
When my childish hands were wreathing 

Fresh buds in tliy curling hair. 
I '11 whisper thee old-time warbhngs, 

That our young lips used to praise, 
Till thy very heart goes thrilling 

With the love of old-thnc days ; 
And thy voice shall murmur blessing, 

In words that are dear to me, 
"With the light in thy dark eyes gleaming, 

All sunny and fair to see. 
And I'll pray that the angols love thcu, 

And keep thee, my darling fair, 
Till the light of the heavenly sunshine 

Shall gleam in thy soft, brown hair. 

^ ^»m^ > 

[Written for Gleason's Pictorial] 

THE HAUNTED MAN. 

A SUSTGULAR STOEY. 

BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR. 

In tlie spring of 1842, 1 chanced to be in Mes- 
sina, a seaport of Sicily ; and -while there I was 

invited to visit the extensive vintage of D i 

& M 7.0. Tlieir location ivas in a pleasant 

valley some three miles back from the city, and 
beneath a portion of their grounds was extended 
a large wine vault, embracing an area of nearly 

two acres. After accompanying M zo, the 

junior partner, through the long vine-arbors and 
orange groves, we descended to the vault, and 
after passing nearly half the length of one of the 
pipe tiers, we came to a desk where a man was 
writing. 

"There is one of your own countrymen," said 

M zo, " and he will accompany you through 

the vaults." 

My conductor called to the man. who, quickly 
dropping his pen, stepped down from the stool 
and came forward. He was employed as a clerk 
in the exporting department, for the purpose of 
filling up bills, invoices, etc., for the American 
and English merchants. 

" You will find him a strange sort of a man," 

whispered M zo, " but he is, notwithstanding, 

a good fellow." 

H , for so my companion had called him, 

was a tall, well made man, apparently on the 
better side of forty, and he had a pleasing, intel- 
ligent look. His hair, Avhich was quite luxm'i- 
ous, was almost white, and about his counte- 
nance there were evident marks of suffering. 
His eyes, when he first gazed upon me — which 
was with a fuitive, trembling glance — had an in- 
expressible look of wildness in them, and a cold, 
fearful shudder seemed to run through his frame. 
Gradually he grew more composed, and as he 
showed me around among the pipe-flanked ave- 
nues, casting his huge lantern licre and there to 
show me the ages of the various wines, he began 
to talk with considerable freedom, though he yet 
betrayed a strangeness of manner, a sort of flar- 
ing of voice and gesture, that could not fail of 
exciting my curiosity. A casual observer, who 
might have judged only from his appearance, 
would have thought him slightly insane ; and 
even I felt a conviction that his mind was not 
exactly cotnme il faut, or at any rate, not quite 
comme je fun. 

"Do you reside in New York .'" he asked, as 
we stopped for a moment at the extremity of the 
vault, 

I told him that I did not belong there, though 
I had spent part of the winter and the spring of 
1841 and '42, in that city. 

"I have a wife in that State somewhere, and 
perhaps a child, but I have not heard from them 
for a long time." 

I noticed that he wiped his eyes with the sleeve 
of his linen jacket as he spoke, and be turned 
away, an though to hide an emotion that might 
he tliouglit unmanly. 



" Does she not write to you ?" I asked. 

*' She knows not where I am." 

" Do 1/011 not write '(" 

" Mi-f lie uttered, with a sudden Ktnrt, a cold 
tremor shaking hi.s frame tlie while, "Ah, sir, I 
dare not trust my HU])crscriplion, nor my auto- 
grai)h, in — " 

He hesitated — looked at me wildly i'ur an in- 
stant, and then stai-ting on, he began to enlarge 
on the different ages, qualities and vintages of 
the wine. Twice I tried to liring him back to 
the subject he had so abruptly left, but it was of 
no avail. At lengtb we came ai'ound to the 
stejis that led up to the suifacc of terra firma. 
The sun hail already set, and the stars were be- 
ginning to sparkle in the blue arch above us. 

H remarked that he had no idea it was so 

late, and added, witli the happiest smile I had yet 
seen him express, that he supposed it was be- 
cause he had had such pleasant comi:)any, at the 
same time assuring me that I was the only 
American with whom he had held a social con- 
verse for over a year. As he was about to close 
the vault for the night, I proposed he should ac- 
company me to my cafe, take supjicr with nic, 
and then walk wirh me about the city. It was 
some time before he would consent to this ar- 
rangement ; and while he was considering upon 
it, I could sec that there was an internal struggle 
of no small moment. He appeared to me not 
unlike a man who is debating whether he shall 
attack a den of angry rattlesnakes. After a 
while, however, he consented to go, though 
there was a marked reluctance in his manner. 
He extinguislied the light in his lantern, gazed 
up and down the long avenues to see that no 
spark of fire had accidentally been dropped, and 
then he followed me up the broad stone steps, 
and having secured tlie doors, he signified that 
he was at my service. The direct way to my 
cafe, which was on the broad quay, lay through 
the heart of the city ; but my companion insisted 
upon taking a more circuitous route, and as he 
led the way, he took me tlirough the narrowest 
and darkest streets and passages he coidd find. 

" Ml-. C ," said he, as we were emerging 

from one of these dark passages, "there was an 
American merchantman arrived yesterday from 
New York, and I know not who may have come 
in her. It is for this reason that I avoid the 
public places." 

In an instant the idea flashed upon me that 
my companion was a convict, or, at least, a 
criminal, who had been guilty of some heinous 
crime in his native country, and was consequent- 
ly afraid of detection. The more I thought of 
it, the more I became convinced that such was 
the fact, and I could now account for his strange 
conduct in this fear, and in the gnawings of a 
guilt-burdened conscience. Yet, he was a wel- 
come companion for all that, and I felt sure that 
repentance had been full and ample. 

H gazed furtively about as we entered the 

cafe; and, at his request, I ordered supper in a 
private room. He laughed and chatted freely, 
and the more I saw of him the more I liked him. 
After we had finished our meal we started on 
the proposed walk. Itwas nearly eleven o'clock 
when we thought of returning, and as we were 
passing the small church of St. Joseph, I noticed 
that the doors were open, and that in the centre 
of the church there was a sable bier, around 
which were burning a number of wax tapers. I 
proposed that we should enter and look for a 
moment at the corpse. H made no objec- 
tions. In one of the confessionals near the door 
sat an old monk, and very naturally I asked of 
him who it was that rested upon the bier, know- 
ing that most of the interments from tins church 
were in behalf of charity. 

The monk informed us that it was the body of 
a man who had come on shore from the Ameri- 
can ship that came in the day before. He had 
been very sick and weak when he left the ship, 
but he was determined to land, and no persua- 
sion of the crew could alter him in his determi- 
nation. He had reached the quay, but he lived 
not to cross it. 'The kind monks of St. Joseph 
had taken charge of the body. 

We slowly, reverently approached the sombre 
scene. Upon the breast of the deceased were 
the various articles that had been found in bis 
possession, consisting of an apparently well-filled 
purse, a pocket comb, a watch, and a heavy 
double-barrelled pistol, the latter of which the 
monk informed us had been found loaded with 
extraordinary charges of powder, balls and buck- 
shot. I gazed upon the face of the dead, and 
even in its sunken, mai-blc-like rigidity, there 
was a startling expression of intense resolution. 



as though Home fell purpose, wliicli even death 
had not subdued, sllll dwelt in the hushed bosom. 
As I still gazed I hejird a quick, slificil cry at 
my side, and ou turning I was half frightened by 
the expression of my companion's countenance. 
His eye-bulls seemed actually starting from tlieir 
sockets, his mouth was half open and fi.xcd, his 
hands, which were extended towards the corse, 
treml)led like vil)ratiiig harp-strings, aiul his very 
hair seemed fretful. He moved nearer towards 
the head of the dead man — looked aucjtlier mo- 
ment into that ]mllid face, and then sinking upon 
his knees, he clasped his hands towards heaven, 

" Great God, I thank thee, I thank thee ! 
thanks ! thanks ! thanks !" he ejaculated in fran- 
tic tones, and then he arose and looked once 
more upon tlie features of the corse. Then his 
eyes wandered to the heavy pistol that lay upon 
the sable pall, and while a cold shudder passed 
through his frame he took me by the arm. 

" Come, come," said he, " come wilh me to 
your cafe, and I will tell you a strange story." 

Without heeding the mute astonishment of the 

monk, I followed H from the church, and 

ere long we were seated upon a balcony that 
overlooked the beautiful Straits of Messina. My 
companion"'s nerves bad become somewhat com- 
posed, and I could see that there was an intense 
satisfiiction depicted in every lineament of his 
countenance. 

" Mr. C ," he commenced, " I can tell you 

my story in a few words. Nearly twenty years 
ago, I fell in with a young girl in the city of 
New York. On my part the acquaintance soon 
ripened into a love of the warmest and most ai-- 
dent kind — and it was as pure as it was ardent; 
and she professed the same feeling towards me. 
I was then well to do in the world, being a clerk 
in a heavy mercantile house, and ere long itwas 
aiTanged that we should be married. About a 
week previous to the time set for this ceremony, 
I accidentally heard my affianced bride use some 
most obscene and profane language in company 
with one of her female acquaintances. You can 
judge of my feelings under those circumstances 
much better than I can describe them. I turned 
awa}-- sick at heart, and on the very next day I 
received indubitalile proofs of the ntter infidelity 
of the object of my affections, and I at once 
broke off the engagement. Upon being ques- 
tioned by some of my companions as to the 
cause of my course, I unguardedly, and perhaps 
foolishly, revealed to them the whole secret. 
The story, as having come from me, got wings, 
and it soon spread among the lady's acquaint- 
ances. 

" A few days afterwards a young man about 
my own age, called into the store and came up 
to the desk wdiere I was writing. His hands 
were nervously clasped together, and his face 
was livid with rage. He told me I bad forever 
blasted the reputation of his sister — that I had 
faithlessly deserted her, and left her broken- 
hearted. I attempted to reason with him, but I 
might as well have reasoned witli a lightning 
bolt. He demanded instant satisfaction, and 
proposed that I should accompany him over on 
to the Long Island side and fight him. My nat- 
ural timidity would have prevented me from 
complying with such a request ; but I had also 
higher scruples, and of comse I refused. Then 
he called me a base coward, and swore that lie 
would have my life. I complained of him before 
a justice; he was apprehended, publicly tried, 
fined, and placed under bonds to keep the peace. 

"After that I met him in Broadway. He 
stopped me and whispered in" my ear. He 
swore by the most fearful oath a man could 
lake, that he would have my life, and that he 
would hunt me through the world till he had ac- 
complished his purpose, I knew that he meant 
just what he had said, and fear began to take 
possession of my bosom. Many times I discov- 
ered that he was dogging me about, but I always 
managed to keep among a crowd as I walked 
along the streets, I dared not bring him to 
trial again, for I miglit fail to make out a case, 
and it could only tend to incense my enemy 
still more. At length I feared to walk the 
streets, for one night, as I was passing a dark 
alley near the head of Cherry Street, I heard 
the report of a pistol close to me, and a bullet 
passed through my hat. A watchman was 
quickly on the spot, but nothing was to be found. 
I Icnew who fired that pistol, but I had no evi- 
dence ! I felt that my life was not safe in the 
city, and secretly I moved to a small town in 
the western part of Massachusetts, where I en- 
gaged with a dry goods dealer. Here I took to 
myself a wife ; but I had not been married over 



a month, when I saw my enemy pass the door of 
the store and look in. He saw me, and he 
pointed his finger at me. The cold sweat stood 
in huge droj)s upon my bi'ow, and my fears 
came back more powerfully than ever. At 
night I contrived to get my employer to go 
liomo with me, and on the way I heard low, 
stealthy stcjjs behind me. I knew that I was 
dogged ! ' You are mine ." I heard a voice pro- 
nounce, as I turned into my yard ; and as I 
turned, I saw a dusky figure moving off beneath 
the shade of the roadside trees. The next morn- 
ing I sent word to my employer that I was sick, 
and I kept the house all day. I explained all 
to my wife, and she agreed to go with me wher- 
ever I wished. Several times during that day I 
saw my sworn murderer pass the house and 
gaze intently up at the windows, but he did not 
see me. 

" I got a boy to go to the stable and procure u 
horse and wagon, and, after dark, to take it 
around to a back road, nearly a mile distant 
from the house. My wife and myself tied up 
such articles of clothing as wc could carr}', and 
taking all my money with me, we stole out 
through the back garden, and gained the cross 
road in safety. Tlie wagon was there, and hav- 
ing entered it, the boy drove us off at a good 
speed. Just at daylight we reached a tavern 
where a stage coach was almost ready to start, 
and the boy returned, having first promised to 
keep inviolate the secret of my flight. The stage 
was bound to Lenox, which place we reached 
before dark. From thence I went to Hudson, 
crossed the North River, and made my way to 
the western part of New York, where I bought 
me a small cottage. 

"In less than a year my enemy found me 
again, and I saw him standing in fi-ont of my 
house. He looked wild and haggard, but I 
could see that there was an iron determination 
upon his features. One night I heard a grating 
against one of my windows, and on the next 
moment my dog, a powerful Newfoimdland,had 
sprang from his kennel, I dared not go down, 
for I knew too well the cause of the disturbance. 
The noise soon ceased, however, and on the 
next morning, I found my dog laying beneath 
the window — dead ! The villain had been afraid, 
probably, that the noise might have disturbed 
the neighbors, and he had for the present desist- 
ed from his murderous intent. I made arrange- 
ments with my wife to keep the house, and tak- 
ing a small sum of money with me, I fled from 
my home ! 

" I went to New Orleans, and there m}' enemy 
at length followed me ! For three years I skulk- 
ed from place to place, the very embodiment of 
terror and weakening fear ; but go where I would, 
that man was sure to haunt me. Six different 
times he fired at me with his pistol, and twice he 
wounded me. Our two lives seemed now to 
have hut one end and aim. His was to take 
mine, and mine, to escape his fell revenge ! I 
became almost a walking skeleton — the falling 
of a leaf would startle me. At length I got a 
chance to go to England. I was in London, 
standing one day at the door of an ale-house, 
when — O God ! — I saw my life-hnnter pass. He 
was as pale and sunken as myself — restless and 
nervous ; hut his black eyes gleamed like balls of 
fire. H; did not see me. I hmried down to the 
Thames, took a lighter as far as Gravesend, and 
there I was fortunate enough to find a barque 
bound directly for the Mediten'anean. I got a 
passage in her, and was at length landed in thiy 
city, where I have been «ver since, I have re- 
gained somewhat of my former health and spir- 
its, though that same dread fear has not failed 
to haunt mc. 

"My enemy must have found me out, even 
here; but, thank God, he has passed from the 
power to harm me more. A hand mightier than 
bis has stricken him down. TTiat iras hi.-i cold, 
powerless corse that we saw to-night in the chinch ! 
If my wife still lives I shall see her again." 
****** 

H did meet his wife again, for I saw them 

both at the AVliite Mountains when I was last 
there. It was some time before I could recog- 
nize, in the portly gentleman who accosted me, 
the poor haunted man I had met in Messina ; 
but when I realized the truth, I grasped him 
warmly by the hand, received an introduction 
to his Avifc, and soon wc three were straying 
away along the banks of the beautiful Ammo- 
n 00 sue. 



Fnith loves to lean on time's destroying arm, 
And age, like distance, lends a double chnrm. 

O. 11'. Holi,u'. 



GLEASOX-S PICTORIAL DRAWIXCx ROOM CXBIPANIOX. 



43 



[^^"ritttn for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
UNREQUITED liOVE. 

BY J. ALFORD. 

" Let sweet reflection sway the feeling mind, 
And gather morals from each budding flower.-' 

Sec, Clara, how yon lovely rose 

Buds with the dawning light ; 
And as the day comes gliding on, 

Looks doubly gay and bright. 
But when the night begins to spread 

Her sable mantle round, 
Alaa I it fades, and drooping Ues, 

Neglected on the ground. 

No longer, then, with killing frowns, 

Give pain to this fond heart, 
■\\'lien thy bright smiles, and accents sweet, 

Would so much bliss impart. 
Obdurate still ?— my love disdain ?— 

Thou triumph 'st in my sorrow ; 
But know, proud girl, though fair to-day, 

Thy charms may fade to-morrow. 

But I will cease to importune 

A heart so cold as thine, 
For there 's no hope of mutual bUss, 

Lest heart to heart incline. 
On life's rough sea I'm left forlorn, 

The sport of adverse wind ; 
To sink beneath wild ocean's foam. 

And leave no trace behind. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

A SKETCH FKOM LIFE. 

BY 3IKS. E. WELLMOXT. 

The regular swell ! His face is a mixture of 
small-pox, erysipelas and the mumps combined. 
His figure is a complete bloat ; and then look at 
his gait ! See how uneven and irregular he 
moves along ; and were it not for unmistakeable 
marks of one of his "profession," he might be 
taken for a tipsy sailor just landed from the ship. 
But no ; he cames a large gold-headed cane, 
heavy bushy locks are appended to each ear, and 
hair, if nothing else, seems to have found a con- 
genial soil about his mouth and chin. Where 
was he yesterday 'i Why, he took a choice spirit 
to ride. They chartered a fleet animal, and af- 
ter " raising tlie wind " at sundry hotels in the 
vicinity, they daslied into another vehicle, broke 
off both shafts, were thrown into the mud, taken 
up insensible, and conveyed to a neighboring 
house, where, after examination and a copious 
ablution, only a scratch was discoverable above 
tlie left eye; thus verifying the adage, that 
" nought is never in danger." The horse was 
returned to the stable, the buggy is smashed up 
by the roadside, and " swell " tells the owner " to 
help himself if he can." How is he to-day ? He 
has just swallowed a mint jnlep, and bought a 
ticket for a friend's "benefit;" his head ach^s 
confoundedly; he has a mind, however, to take 
a game at billiards ; you and ho will run for luck, 
but alas ! " swell " is beaten, and his last six- 
pence is gone ; but there is one resource ; his 
old father owns a fanm in the country, and by 
dint of hard labor, his mother has collected, from 
eggs and butter, money enough to buy Eunice a 
sili dress before the fourth of July, when she in- 
tends to visit her brother, Robert, in the city ; 
but a letter anives ; it b'.ars marks of being writ- 
ten in haste, and its contents are as follows : 

" Dear Mother : I know you will sympathize 
in my misfortunes. I was thrown from a chaise 
yesterday, and nan'owly escaped with my life." 
{Here the old lady is seized with faintness.) 
Eunice resumes : " I have been out of regular 
employment for the last three months ; there's 
no getting a place ; but it is necessary I should 
remain here to keep a look out. My funds are 
all gone — paid my last cent to my landlady for 
bo:ud this morning. My health is rather poor. 
J till ('• X may be dropsical ; have a pain in my 
eyi.', >r ''nual thirst, and an uneasiness about 
the i'h'/-f p-'_iich a few dollars might remove." 
("Dear K/!" murmured the old lady.) "I 
have thoughf^ you and Eunice might send me a 
shin plaster just to patch over these uncomfort- 
able wounds. I have plenty of jolly fellows who 
keep up my spirits ; but the -ready rhino is indis- 
pensable to my maintaining a decent appearance 
in this big city. You had better say nothing to 
father about this request ; for I should dislike to 
cause him any anxietj', and he might advise my 
being taken home, ivhick is out of the que:itioii. 

"Tmly, KoBEiiT." 

" Poor child !" repeated the mother. " Dear 
Bob!" said Eunice, "you are welcome to all I 
have gathered. There are seventy-five cjnts in 
the hook and eye box, one dollar in ten cent 



pieces in the foot of a stocking, and twenty-five 
cents which I should appropriate to my annual 
subscription to the library; but eveiy cent of it 
shall go to brother ; if I had a whole Californian 
mine it would be none too much. Yet how I do 
wish he would come home and see us." 

"And, Eunice, there's twelve dozen of eggs, 
and that large cheese, and go to the pork tub, 
child, and take out a large piece, and run over 
to the grocer's, and ask him what discount I 
must make for him to send me the money. Let 
me see, I have four dollars and fifty-seven cents 
by me. Well, we will make it up to twelve 
dollars, and that will give the boy a lift for a lit- 
tle while." 

"Swell" has received it. He first takes a 
boon companion, and calls for a glass of whisky 
punch to get melloicecl, as he calls it ; fells on his 
tailor and offers to take a ready made suit on six 
months credit, but is refused ; swears roundly, 
and walks out ; goes to the refectory and sups 
on oysters and a stiff glass, then wends his way 
to the theatre, drinks between the acts, makes up 
to a night-walker, is overtaken by the police, 
and locked up in the watch-house. The next 
moraing he is released ; plays a game, wins, loses 
— all gone ; drinks by invitation, staggei*s, grows 
boisterous, is represented as a common vaga- 
bond, and sent to the House of Correction for 
three months. Information is communicated to 
the parents. Wliat a liome of agony is there ! 
troubles unspeakable, beyond the power of sym- 
pathy to subdue ; for there is a disgrace which 
dishonors a son, and sends a thrill of anguish 
into the hearts where he was fondly nui'tured, 
which has never been written. 

Ten yeai*s ago this young man came to this 
city in all the simplicity and purity of his early 
training, and was a salesman in a well-establish- 
ed finii. His home was a boarding-house — a 
cheap house, where decent food and lodging 
might be had with a room mate, at a low rate. 
That companion, however, was a profligate 
young man. In that house no kindly rebuke 
was ever administered, provided no impi-oper 
behaviour was visible. A general freedom was 
allowed, and a night key furnished to such 
hoarders as chose to pay for one. It had no at- 
ti-actions as a home ; and after the duties of the 
day were ended, the young man felt at liberty to 
see the wonders in a strange city. At first his 
expenses were paid to decoy him without any 
compunctions; and gradually, as his "green 
habits " yielded to the fascinations of unlawful 
desires, a sort of independent action that made 
him master of his own purse, caused him to 
yield to the solicitations of the initiated; and his 
fall was just as certain as his associates were 
coiTupt. He soon forgot the precepts of his 
rural home ; he even became hardened in his 
aflfectionate interest for those whom he left there. 
He entered no lecture-room, he attended no 
church, he cherished no love of purity, but, a prey 
to the lawless and wild dictates of an imgovcmed 
spu'it, his doom appeared sealed, and "the his- 
tory of a regular swell " was all by which he was 
known in this community. AVere this but a soli- 
tary instance of departure from rectitude, the ex- 
ample might be held up like the prodigal son in 
the Sciiptm'es ; but, unlike him, they are too of- 
ten confirmed blots upon creation, and never 
come to themselves, and retrace their steps. 

To those parents who are meditating a ti^ans- 
fer of their sons to a great metropolis, we would 
entreat them to look beyond the wages they se- 
cure, to thi; homes tlwij euter ; sec that a kind care 
watches over them ; gather about them such in- 
fluences as tend to confirm and strengthen the 
rudiments you have instilled ; and, above all, do 
not relax your own interest in their welfare. 
Write to them ; be ever near them in spirit, and 
contrive to so entwine youi-selves about their 
hearts that the slightest dereliction may turn their 
thoughts to that ttmniscicnt as well as parental 
eye, which ever watches over them. 



WONDERS OF THE HE.iVENS. 

John Herschel, in liis Es.^^ay on the power of 
the telescope to penetrate into space, says there 
arc stars so infinitely remote as to be situated at 
the distance of twelve millions of millions of 
millions of miles from our earth ; so that light, 
which travels witli tlie velocity of twelve millions 
of miles in a minute, would reciuire two millions 
of years for its transit from those distant orbs to 
our Qvra ; while the astronomer, who should re- 
cord the aspect of mutations of such a star, would 
be relating, not its history at tlie present day, but 
that which took place t^vo millions of years gone 
by. What is our earth in space almost infinite ? 
and still more, what is man, that he should be 
the special object of regard to tlie Infinite Author 
of this system of A\'orlds '? — Enfjiish paper. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
C.ISTLE BUILDING. 

BY JOHN RUSSEL, 

A raw boned, spunky, Irish lad. 
Who his own share of blarney had. 
Came to this country — free as lard, 
To find a home, and play his card. 
Says Pat, ''And sure I 've come, at last, 
Where I 'II forget my sorrows past ; 
Shillelaghs, tithes and broken pate. 
Here are unkno^Ti, or out of dat« ; 
And nought I sec before my eyes, 
For such a lad as me, but — rise I 
Jackson, and Reilly, and Maguire, 
Their very names my breast inspire I 
But stop ! so fast I must not meddle. 
My first resort must be to peddle I 
I'ive dollars are my only stock, 
All safely lined within my sock ; 
Which, well laid out at pubhc sale, 
To yield me fifteen will not fail. 
These doubled, trebled, o'er and o'er, 
Will put me in a handsome store ; 
■Where I shall court the public notice. 
And run, perchance, for some sleek office. 
I '11 be a red-hot party man, 
Until they dub me alderman ; 
And then a door will open wide. 
For any size and sort of stride ; 
For there's but little 'twixt the mayor 
And the big presidential chair." 

"^^Tiile these thoughts floated in his brain, 

He searched, his money to regain ; 

Which, holding high up in the air, 

As if his victory to share ; 

A most unto^\'ard blast of wind 

Came impudently from behind, 

And ere Pat could a speech deliver. 

Blew hopes and money in the river \ 

5I0KAL. 
Ne'er sell your fish nntil you catch them. 
Nor count your chickens till you hatch them. 

THE CLOIATE OF AUSTRALIA. 

It is a great blessing, too, to be able to go 
abroad in an ordinary indoor dress, instead of 
piling ou extra pellicles, graduated according to 
tlie season. Here the family of clogs, galoshes, 
umbrellas, etc., imported from Europe by the 
careful emigrant, arc " hungup as monuments !" 
Chesterfield, Benjamin, Taglioni and Mackintosh, 
are sumptuary nobodies ; and Kicol is only tol- 
erated in his most gossamer form. I am aware 
of the existence of one warming-pan in New 
South Wales — one only ; and I shall move the 
owner to present it to the Sydney museum when 
she returns to England — perfectly certain that to 
ninety-nine out of a hundred Anglo-Australian 
visitors of the institution the intent and purposes 
of the implement would be utterly inscrutable. 
* * * Yet with all its beauties the Australian 
climate, taken as a whole, is hard, glaring, al- 
most withering in its excessive aridity. If it 
does not prompt to languor and listlessness, like 
that of some other souUiem countries, neither is 
there anything voluptuous in it. Byron's dictum 
regarding " what men call gallantry " and " cli- 
mates sultry " does not hold good, I think, with 
regard to New South Wales. It is an indirect 
libel upon it — happily! Perhaps, however, so 
business-like a people would not be sentimental, 
romantic, poetical or amorous, under any skyey 
influences ! — Onr Antipodes. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
LOOK ON THE SUNNY SLDE. 

BY MRS. M. W. CUETIS. 

Though clouds may gather to dim the sky, 
And summer friends may pass thee by, 
When adversity's chains are over the flung. 
Or the heart with anguish deep is wrung, 
Though troubles may come as a rolling tide, 
Despair not, look on the sunny side. 

Remember 'tis darkest before the day. 
Then watch thee for the sunbeam's ray, 
'Twill come again to gladden the breast, 
And set thy troubles and fears at rest ; 
Let not despair in thy boi-om hide, 
But cheer thee, ajid look on the sunny side. 

There are beautiful spots in this world of oui-s, 
Where the blossoming glade is sweet with flowers ; 
There arc moments of happiness radiant with light, 
There are hopes will outshine death's withering blight ; 
Then let not despair in thy bosom hide. 
But cheer thee, and look on the sunny side. 



ORIGIN OF THE WORD " BLACIiGUARDS." 

In all great houses, but particularly in royal 
residences, there were a number of mean and 
dirty dependents, whose ofiice it was to attend 
the woodyard, sculleries, etc. Of these — for in 
the lowest depth there was a lower still — the most 
forlorn wretches seem to have been selected to 
carry coals to the kitchen, halls, etc. To this 
smutty regiment, who attended the progresses, 
and rode in the cars witli the pots and kettles, 
which, with every other article of furniture, were 
then moved from palace to palace, the people in 
derif^ion gave the name of "blackguards" — a 
term since become sufficiently familiar, and nev- 
er before properly explained. — Gifford's Notes to 
Ben Jonson's Plai/s. 



A LONDON PARLLA3IENT.ARY REPORTER. 

Proby had never been out of London, never 
in a boat, never on the back of a horfce. To the 
end of bag-wigs he wore a bag ; he was the last 
man that walked with a cane as long as himself, 
ultimately exchanged for an umbrella, which he 
was never seen without in wet weather or dry, 
yet he usually reported the whole debates in the 
I'eers from memoiy, witliont a note, for the 
" Morning Chronicle," and wrote two or three 
novels, depicting the social manners of the times ! 
He was a strange feeder, and ruined himself in 
eating pastry at the confectioner's shojis (for one 
of whose scores Taylor and I hailed him) ; he 
was always in a perspiration, whence George 
Colman christened him " King Porus ;" and he 
was always so punctual to a minute, that when 
he arrived in sight of the office window, the re- 
mark used to be : " There's Proby — it is half past 
two," and yet he never set his watcli. If ever it 
came to right time, I cannot tell ; but if you ask- 
ed him what o'clock it was, he would look at it, 
and calculate something in this sort : " I am 
twenty-six minutes past seven — four, twenty-one 
from twelve, forty — it is just three minutes past 
three !" 

Poor, strange, and simple, yet curiously-in- 
formed Proby, his last domicil was the Lambeth 
parish workhouse, out of which he would come 
in its coarse gray garb, and call upon his friends 
as freely and unceremoniously as before, to the 
surprise of servants, who entertain "an 'onid " 
jealousy of paupers, and who could not compre- 
hend why a person so clad was shown in. The 
last letter I had from him spoke exultingly of his 
having been chosen to teach the young children 
in the house their ABC, which conferred some 
extra accommodations upon him. — Tlie Autobi- 
ography of W. Jerdan. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
ELLA. 

BY HENEY J. KILMER. 

She sleeps beneath yon willow tree, 

My little sister dear ; 
Her spirit from this earth is free, 

Gone to another sphere. 

'Twas in the gentle month of spring. 
And the blossoms decked each tree, 

"Wlien Ella's spirit took its wing. 
And left our home and me. 

We laid her 'neath the clustering boughs 

Of yon o'crspreading tree, 
And I am sad and lonely now. 

Since she left our home and me. 

She was too pure a bud to stay 
In this world of death and gloom j 

So God has called our Ella away, 
To a land where ail is bloom. 

I miss her sweet, enchanting tone, 

That echoes through the hall ; 
I sit in quiet and alone, 

To hear her footsteps fall. 

But ah ! I never more will bear 

Her gentle voice again ; 
She's gone into that bUssful sphere. 

Where the heart is free from pain. 

MOMENTS OF 3IELODY. 

I remember once strolling along the margin 
of a stream, in one of those low, sheltered val- 
leys on Salisbury Plain, where the monks of 
fonner ages planted chapels and built hermits' 
cells. There was a little parish church near, but 
tall elms and quivering alders hid it from the 
sight, when, all on a sudden, I was startled by 
the sound of the full organ pealing on the car, 
accompanied by rustic voices, and the willing 
choir of village maids and cJiildrcn. It rose, 
indeed, "like an exhalation of rich distilled per- 
fumes." The dews from a thousand pastures 
were gathered in its softness ; the silence of a 
thousand years spoke in it. It came upon the 
heart like the calm beauty of death ; fancy caught 
the sound, and faith mounted on it to the skiis. 
It filled the valley like a mist, and still poured 
out its endless chant, and still it swells upon the 
ear, and wraps me in a golden ti'ance, drowning 
the noisy tumult of the world. — Hazlitt. 

TRIBUTE TO WOMAN. 

There is something about woman that is curi- 
ous, isn't there ? This morning I swept the 
school Iiouse. I thought it was nicely done. I 
felt proud. Presently some girls came in ; and 
one, true to the instinctive sense of neatness 
characteristic of her sex, took the broom. She 
swept after mc — and, good gracious, what a 
change ! It seemed as if — well, I can't tell ; but 
when slie had got done, I had a very poor opinion 
of my house-keeping powers, I assure you. The 
stove-hearth, the wood by the stove, all, every- 
thing, put on that look which only woman can 
give. What in creation is it that makes them 
give such an air to things I — CoiTesj'Oiidence of 
Kn ickcrbocker. 



OUR PASSIONS. 

We are like Adam in the ei>ic poem ; we look 
upon our first night as the crack of doom, and 
the first setting of the sun of the world. We be- 
wail our friends as if there were no better futu- 
rity yonder, and bewail ourselves as if there were 
uo'bettcr futurity here; for all onr passions are 
born atheists and infidels. — Hichtei: 



Gnats are unnoticed whereso'pr they fly. 

But eagles gazed upon by every ej a.—Shahspeare. 



u 



GLEASON'S PICTOPJAL DllAWING ROOM COMPANION. 




THE NEW COURTS OF LAW^ C05IM0NLY CALLED OSGOODE HALL, TORONTO, CjVNADA. 



OSGOODE HAIil*, TORONTO. 

Toronto, tlic locjile of the fine buiUlins:; repre- 
sented above, in the spac-e of some thirty yei-irs, 
lias become, from a village containing a few 
Inmdrcd souls, a iloui'ishing town with above 
twenty tlionsand inliabitants, and possessing 
most of the comforts and many of tlic luxuries of 
the generality of English country towns, her 
seniors by centuries. Some fifteen years ago the 
scat of government, which had been held at To- 
ronto, was removed to Kingston ; and the ab- 
sence of a resident governor, with his train of 
officials, as also of a hirge garrison, was severely 
felt, and obliged Toronto to apply all her ener- 
gies to overcome her loss. The strong exertion 
of inward resources is seldom without its reward, 
and in this case has proved how far more bene- 



ficial in its results is reliance on native industry 
than on foreign support. So far from degener- 
ating, Toronto has continued to improve, and is 
now the most flourishing town of Western Cana- 
da. After Toronto was shorn of its official 
greatness, it underwent many transformations of 
its public buildings ; the parliament building was 
converted into a mad-house, by a less easy trans- 
formation the governor's residence became a 
normal school, his excellency's stable a theatre, 
and the principal barrack sprouted fortli into a 
lawyers* hall. The accompanying sketch will 
show that, as far as arcliitcetural beauty is con- 
ceded, the change in the latter case has been 
decidedly for the better ; but, alas ! where are ye 
now, yc gallant 93d Highlanders, who once call- 
ed Osgoode Hall your barracks 'i Hushed are 



the pibroch's notes, which once resounded 
in this placCjWhcrc the bustling attorney prepares 
his bill of costs, the sage barrister rehearses elo- 
quence, the dignified judge dispenses law. Black 
goivns and green bags have superseded red coats 
and tartan kilts, and melted into thin air are the 
idle crowds which would once collect at the gate 
to watch the manceuvres of those stalwart men, 
as bedirked and bckilted they moved in proud 
consciousness of the admiration they excited. 
Many a group of American travellers would then 
stop, and utter quaint remarks upon the breadth 
of chest and ruddiness of eheek of these moun- 
tain warriors ; while beneath green veils and 
black silk dresses (the uniform travelling dress of 
American ladies) a fearful struggle would take 
place between female curiosity and Yankee fas- 



tidiousness, till the spirit of Eve conquers, the 
green veil' is thrown back, and soft expressive 
glances of undisguised admiration rest on those 
sturdy forms, " horrid bare legs," notwithstand- 
ing ! The population of Toronto consists chiefly 
of the descendants of New England loyalists — 
that is, British subjects who, during the revolu- 
tionary war, adhered to the British cause — and 
English, Scotch and L'ish emigrants ; the former 
well merit the success which has in general at- 
tended tlieir efforts, to regain by industry or 
talent wliat their forefathers had sacrificed to an 
honorable sense of duty; while the latter have 
themselves principally to blame if they fail to 
better tlieir condition, and eventually secure to 
themselves and their children, competence or 
independence. 




CROSSING THE RAPID!-. A CANADIAN SCENE. 



[I'or dcauription, soo [iitifo 15.J 



GLEASON'S PICTOHIAL DRA\^^ING ROOM COMPANION. 



45 




PEEDERICK GLEASON, PKOpniETOR. 
MATURIN IT. BALLOU, Editor. 

COKTEKTS OF OUR NEXT NUMKER. 

"Mark Warland, or Fortune and Favor," a story, by 
Geo. Can.msg IIill. 

•' The Three Dollar Bill," a sketch of an STery day truth, 
by S. CoDD, Jr. 

" Summer Boarding,"' a story, by Mrs. E. "Wellmont. 

" Works of Love," a story, by Mrs. S. P. Douckty. 

" come not to me." Terses, by Miss E. Hicks. 

"My Harrv, 0!" a song, by R. G. Staples. 

" To a Kosebud," verses, by C. Jillson. 

" Lines to a Kiss." 

*' The Loss of Sachem's ITead,* ■ by F. W. Rdssell. 

'■ The Lone Heart,'' lines, by J. II. Butler. 

•■There is a God above." verses, by S. BuRNnAsi. 

'- To Mrs. E. Chandler," a poem, by Mrs. R. T. Eldredge. 

'■ Covenanter's nynin," lilies, by J. Hukt, Jr. 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

We shall give a fine full length portrait of the late Hon. 
Henry Clay, one of America's honored and cherished sons, 
and for wliom the land is in mourning from east to west, 
from north to south. It is by our .artist, Mr. Roivsr. 

Also the famous Clay Medal, presented to this honored 
statesman, will be correctly delineated by our artist, Mr. 
Wade. 

We shall present a very interesting set of scenes illus- 
trating a large variAy of Fishes, of various kinds, and in 
various positions, forming an admirable eeries of natural 
history illustrations, covering two entire pages of the 
Pictorial. 

A very beautiful and original series of views of the City 
of Neivport, R. I., now the most fashionable watering 
place io America, by our artist, Mr. CImpin. The series 
will consist, first, of a view of the City of Newport ; second, 
a view of the First Beach and Bathing Point ; third, a pic- 
ture of the Stone Tower ; fourth. Fort Conanicut, opposite 
the City of Newport ; fifth, an engraving of Gen. I'rescott's 
Head Quarters; and sixth, Gen. Greene's Birthplace, form- 
ing one of the finest series of connected pictures we have 
yet published. 

The Glass House for the Victoria Regina, at Ghent, will 
be illustrated most accurately, forming a capitJil picture. 

Throe engravings will be given, also, of this famous 
plant, discovered on the river Amazon, in South America, 
representing, first, the lily before opening; second, the 
lily in full ttower; and third, the under part of the leaf, 
forming a most interesting series of illustrations of this 
marvellous plant. 

An original and very beautiful view, by our artist, Mr. 
Mallory, of the Blind Asylum, at South Boston. A fine 
picture. 



FUIVERALS. 

The stupid indiflPcrence with which all the 
Americans regard tlie passage of a funeral pro- 
cession is proverbial. Now the French people, 
from a regaid to the feelings of mouniers, as well 
as respect for the memory of the dead, wlien 
they meet a funeral procession, stand still, and 
uncover in the street, while the procession pass- 
es. A most touching tribute to the memory of 
the dead. "VVe most earnestly wish our people 
had the heart to imitate it. 



SPLINTERS. 



General Lane bets SIOOO that Scott will 

not be elected. 

.... Jenny Lind, at last accounts, was creat- 
ing a great furor in London. 

.... The Boston Bee asks, will Scott pierce 
Pierce, or will Pierce pierce Scott ? 

Burning fluid murdered G. L. Bai-tlett, 

of the town of Mendon, Mass. 

.... Michael Weeks was killed by a sun stroke 
the other day, at Savannah, Ga. 

.... Louis Napoleon's salary is just about 
eight cents a second! Big pay that. 

Mi's. Mowatt has just closed an engage- 
ment for her professional services at New Orleans. 

.... They have a magnificent new steamer on 
the Hudson Eiver called the " Francis Skiddy." 

Seven railroads will terminate at Buffa- 
lo, N. Y., before the year 1853. 

Queen Victoria has been on a visit to the 

Highlands of Scotland, we see. 

Milwaukie has shipped 50,000 dozens of 

eggs for New York, this season. 

Booth, the elder, has gone to California 

on a professional theatrical tour. 

.... The small-pox still rages very severely 
in the city and suburbs of New York. 

Coal has been selling at Panama for 

twenty-five dollars per ton. 

C. Dibdin Pitt, when last heard from, 

was playing at one of the London theatres. 

.... McAllister, the magician, has been re- 
markably successful in Philadelphia. 

It is said tliat Mr. Webster will shortly 

retire from public life altogetlicr. 

.... The Hutchinson Family liave gone to 
sing to the Californians. Arrived safe. 



FOREIGKERS. 

We see very often a spirit manifested in the 
public press against the rights and privileges of 
our foreign population, that does not strike us 
as being exactly in accordance with the genius of 
our institutions. People seem alarmed lest for- 
eigners should become so numerous as to outvote 
us, and in the end overthrow the present fonn of 
government in the United States. AVe can sym- 
pathize with no such fear as tliis. 

In lookmg hack but a little way in our history 
as a nation, we find that some of the most illus- 
trious names in our State and army records are 
those of foreigners, and the children of foreign- 
ers ; indeed, what arc we all but tlic descendants 
of foreigners ? "UHien would our freedom have 
been established, but for the assistance rendered 
by the good right liands of foreigners "? Need 
we adduce a proud list of names, beginning, 
for instance, with that of Lafayette ? No, we 
will not suppose that our readers are so ignorant 
of the liLstory of our country as to require us to 
do so. 

The nature of our institutions and government 
is such, that in their very construction and for- 
mation they carry the idea with them of being a 
home for the oppressed and down-trodden of 
every land. As such, America is the admiration 
of the world ; as such, let her ever challenge the 
love of the great and good of Christendom, and 
prove her right to be cherislied as an asylum of 
freedom, and a terror to tyrants, in the bright 
example she exhibits. 

Eejiublicanism, when justly administered, is 
too pure and good, too apparent in its excellence 
and value to all wlio have actually enjoyed its 
rights and privileges, for us to fear that our 
adopted citizens will ever desire to live under any 
other form of laws. 



CHARACTERISTIC. 

What we accomplish by conventions and mass 
meetings, the English frequently effect by din- 
ners. We observe in late London papers an ad- 
vertisement, that " the admirers of Swcdcnborg 
will dine together to celebrate the forty-third an- 
niversary of the society for printing and publish- 
ing his theological works ; tickets twelve shil- 
lings each." Tills is a curious mode of honor- 
ing the memory of the most spiritual of authoi's, 
and of promoting the dissemination of the most 
spiritual of writings. In the same paper there is 
a call for a special meeting of the '* Anti-CoiTup- 
tion Societ}'," for the purpose of " tracing, ex- 
posing and punishing any bribery or treatbig in 
ihe coming election." Thus, more and more 
are the duties of government assumed by private 
organizations. 



CURE FOR CHOLERA. 

Sea captains, who sail out of Liverpool now-a- 
days, assert that they care no more for Asiatic 
cholera than for ordinary colic, or sickness of 
the stomach. They have a remedy which they 
pronounce infiillible, and so accessible and sim- 
ple as to relieve all ajiprehension of fatal results. 
We shall probably tell many of our readers no- 
thing new when we state the prescription : Com- 
mon salt, one table-spoonful ; red pepper, one 
tea-spoonful, in a half pint of hot water. Never- 
theless, as we have heard innumerable instances 
of its use, and not one of its failure, the repeti- 
tion of the formula may do no harm. It is at 
the service of the reader. 



THE CINCINNATI AGENCY. 

In answer to numerous inquires as to the 
agency of our paper in Cincinnati, we would say 
to all that iMr. H. E. Edwards is not our agent, 
and no business is transacted for this establish- 
ment by him. Persons desiring our publications 
in that city, or the State of Ohio generally, should 
apply to A. C. Bagley, No. 10, West Third St., 
who will answer all orders promptly and honor- 
ahly. We may have more to say in a future 
number relative to our Cincinnati agency. 



FujfNT. — It is a remarkable fact that the city 
which produces the odorous and world-renowned 
Cologne water, is known to he one of the most 
filtbv and offensive in the world. 



Iron Works sold. — The Boonlon iron 
works in New Jersey were recently sold for 
S160,000, not one quarter their first cost. 



Gold Digging. — William Howitt, the poet, 
has gone off to the Australian diggings. 



True. — Suspicion is always worse than fiact. 



ST. PIERRE. 

Mr. Willis lets nothing escape his imaginative 
eye in his travels. In a late letter from Marti- 
nique to the Home Journal, he describes a visit 
to the liospital as follows : " My walk this morn- 
ing has been through the wards of a military 
hospital — a kind of walk I used to be more fond 
of, in days when the picture of life more needed 
to borrow shading. This was different, in some 
respects, from the hospitals I have seen ; one 
might covet a fever to be so lodged and tended. 
The building was a massive and imposing one, 
shelved on a terrace close to the bright green 
hills which embosom tlie town, and i\ith the 
courts and gardens of a palace around it. There 
were two picturesque peculiarities — one of which 
had a touch of sentimental also : the attendants 
were Sisters of Charity, nuns nicely coiffed in 
white, and with their black crosses suspended 
over the whitest of aprons, whom it looked as if 
it might be a pleasure to be nm-sed by. Then 
the sixty or seventy sick soldiers were heavily 
bearded ; and, as they lay reading, or sleeping, 
in their long rows of white beds, their heads upon 
the clean pillows — mustaches, imperials and all 
— were studies for an artist. Grow your beard, 
if you wish to look well in bed, my dear general !" 



CANADIAN RAPIDS. 

On page 44 we give a representation of a Ca- 
nadian scene on the rapids of the St. Lawrence, 
showing the mode of navigation adopted by the 
daring boatmen who navigate these waters. The 
pictiu-e is vivid, spirited and life-like, and dis- 
plays the stai'tling and adventurous achievements 
daily accomplished by these nortliern river boat- 
men. Knowing every stone, shoal and channel 
way, they perform feats of seeming impossibility 
in comparative safety, and with entire self-pos- 
session. In the frail bark, ^vhich is represented 
in the scene depicted, there will be noticed a 
group of travellers ''amidships," in whose coun- 
tenances will be observed the terror and anxiety 
natural to their situation. They are passing 
from some thinly populated portion of the coun- 
try to another, and are forced to adopt this haz- 
ardous mode of transportation. However, they 
pass the rapids in safety, and accidents, notwith- 
standing the dangerous com-se, rarely occur, so 
practical and self-possessed are the steersman 
and his assistant oarsman in the management of 
the bark at the most critical moments. 



"THE HEART'S SECRET." 

On the last page of the present number will be 
found an illustration relating to a scene in the 
first chapter of Lieutenant Murray's novelette, 
now publishing in our columns, entitled " The 
Heart's Secret." The scene here depicted is the 
quay or whaif at Havana, nearest to the Plato, 
from whence Licxitenant Bezan leaped into the 
bay to save the life of Ruez Gonzales. Having, 
after a fearful struggle, accomplished his noble 
purpose, the young officer is seen giving the half 
unconscious boy into the arms of his father, Don 
Gonzales. Across the bay, in the dim twilight, 
is seen the outline of Moro Castle, from behind 
the battlements of which, the moon is stealing 
up, and silvering the water with its bright but 
subdued light. On the quay lays the coat, where 
the young officer hastily threw it, as he leaped 
into the sea to save the boy's life. In the back- 
ground is seen Count Anguera, who is hastening 
for a volante to convey Ruez to his home. 



A PRETTY INCOME. 

According to a statement just published by 
order of the House of Commons, the income of 
Queen Victoria's eldest son, the young Prince of 
Wales, during the year 1S51, from tlie Duchy of 
Cornwall, was .£G1,272 2s. 7d. Deducting ex- 
penses for surveys, repairs, etc., .£40,313 lls.6d. 
was left, which amount was paid over to the 
ti'ustces of the prince for his use. A snug little 
amount of pocket money for a boy. 



What's in a Name ? — A Minnesota paper 

announces the man-iage of Thomas H. Curd, 

formerly of Ohio, to Miss Whirling Thunder, a 

Winnebago lady. 

< ^■^ » 

Plain Talk. — ^Lloyd's London Newspaper 
calls the Austrian butcher. Emperor Francis Jo- 
seph, " the best of the cut-throats !" 



Queer. — It is obser\'ed that every fifteen years 
Lake Erie overflows its usual bounds by a flood 

of many feet's elevation. It is now high tide there. 

■< .»*»■ ■» 

Bad Taste. — Gen. Harrison's tomb, at North 
Bend, is reported by a late visitor to be in a 
shamefully neglected and ruinous condition. 




In this city, by Kev. Mr. Miner, Mr. Abiel H. Butrick 
to Miss Sibyl B, Andrews. 

By Kev. Mr. Gray, Sir. Francis Revere to Miss Eliza J. 
Dexter. 

By Rev. Dr. Sharp, George W. Tusbury, Esq., to Miss 
Ilavrictta M. Beats. 

By Rev. Mr. Howej Mr. Lorenzo K, Wliitconib to Misa 
Caroline Morrison. 

By Rev. Mr. Ellis, Mr. Tincent Dell Lent to Sliss Sarah, 
Jane Bell. 

At CharlGsto^-n, by Rev. Mr. Townley, Mr. J. Alonzo 
Holt to Miss Adehne T. Selby. 

At Dorchos ter, Mr. Stephen Clapp to Miss Martha Clapp ; 
Mr. Charles Frederick Weir to Miss Mary Clapp. 

At Salem, Mr. Uenry G. Hubon to Miss Lydia A Clark ; 
Mr. S. Frederick Hubon to Miss Caroline M. Smith. 

At Lowell, by Rev. Mr. CoUyer, Mr. Jonathan Fish, Jr., 
of Worcester, to Miss Azubah Blanchard. 

At Dunstable, by Rev. Mr, Adams, Mr. A. N. Swallow, 
of Charlestown, to Miss Rebecca P. Proctor. 

At New Bedford, by Rev. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Alanson Bor- 
den to Miss Mary C. Topsham. 

At Southboro', Mr. Stimpson Stacj', of Boston, to Miss 
Elizabeth M. Wilder, of Leominster. 

At Lebinon, N. H., Dr. Justin E. Stevens, of Boston, to 
Miss Sarah Jane Eldridge. 

At Portland, Me., by Rev. Mr. Chickering, Mr. Robert 
H. Sherwood, of New York, to Miss Mary Ncal. 

At Newport, R. I., Mr. Walter L. Russell, of New York, 
to Miss Lizzie al- Rouudy, 

At Brooklyn, N. Y-, by Rev, Dr. Young, Mr. James 0. 
Safford, of Boston, to Miss Nancy M. Potter, of Salem, Ms. 



tf-^^^^- 



In this city, Mrs. Caroline R. Duntlin, 25 ; Mrs. Georgi- 
ana M. Bi-adlee, 22 ; Mrs. Mary Smith, 57 ; Mr. Alexander 
Edwards, 32; Harriet Mai-ia Wright, 13: Mr. Joseph G. 
Oakca. 30. 

At CbarlestowTi, Mr. Horace Everett, 47. 

At East Cambridge, Mrs. Sarah Haley, 75. 

At Lynn, Miss Susan Am Graves, 19. 

At Danvers, Mrs. Elizabeth Hutcbinson, 82. 

At Salem, Capt. George N. Cbeever, 37. 

At Marblehcjid, Mrs. Sarah Newhall, (37. 

At Beverly, Mr. Cornelius Larcom, 51. 

At Cohassett, Capt, Wmiam Kilborn, 67. 

At South Scituate. Mr. Elisha Foster, 77. 

At North Eridgewater, Mr. Barzillai Carey, 72. 

At Ipswich, Miss Caroline Brown. 19. 

At Gloucester, Mi-s, Ele-tnor D. Wonson, 33. 

At New Bedford, Mrs. Mary Taber, 76. 

At Nantucket, Mrs, Ann Louisa Cary, 45. 

At Monson, Ann S., wife of Dr. David Callunfl. 

At Springfield, Mr. Ezra Lillie, 87. 

At North Chester, Mr, Amos Elder, 47. 

At Hamilton, Mrs. Annis Foster, 80. 

At Boscawen, N. H.. Mr. John Hornet, 77. 

At Portland, Me., Miss Kuth Amanda Hus,sey, 17. 

At East Vassalboro', Me., Mrs. Polly Coffin, 57. 

At Providence, R. I., Mr. Elias M. Conner, 23. 

At South Kingston, R. I., Hon. Lemuel H. Arnold, 61. 

At Norwich, Ct., Hon. Roger Huntington, 08- 

At Schenectady, N. Y., Mrs. Catharine R. Taylor. 

At Farmington, lU-, Mrs. Lydia Smith, 35. 



A mimnmm smfm^m 



LITERAEY WEEKLY JOURNAL. 



GLEASOX'S PICTOELVL 

A llecord of the beautiful and useful in A7-t. 

The object of this paper is to pre,<!ent, in the most elegant 
and available form, a weekly literary melange of noUvblo 
event.i of tlie day. Its columns arc devoted to original 
tales, sketches and poems, by the 

BEST AMEIUCAN AUTHORS, 

and the cream of the domestic and forei'^n news ; the wholo 
well spiced with «it and humor. Each paper is 

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED 

with numerous accurate engravings, by eminent artists, of 
notiblc objects, current events in all parts of the world, 
and Ci* men and manners, altogether making a paper en- 
tirely original in its des^ign, in this country. It-s pagca 
contain views of every populous city in tiie known woild, 
of all buildings of note in the castcra or western hemi- 
sphere, of all the principal ships and steamers of the navy 
and merchant service, with fine and accurate portraits of 
every noted character in the world, both male and female. 
Sketches of bcautifi-il eccncr.-, taken from life, ^^iU also be 
given, with niunerous specimens from the animal king- 
dom, the birds of the air, and the lish of the sea. It is 
printed on fine satin-surfvco paper, from a font of new 
and beautiful type, manufactured expressly for it, — pre- 
senting in its mechanical execution an elegant specimen 
of art. It contains fifteen hundred and sixty-four square 
inches, and sixty-four columns of reading matter and 
illustrations — a mammoth weekly paper of sixteen octavo 
pages. It forms 

The Best Family Paper, 

inasmuch as its aim is constantly, in connection with the 
fund of amusement it aflbrds, and the rich aiTay of origi- 
nal miscellany it presents, to inculcate the strictest and 
highest tone of morality, and to encourage virtue by hold- 
ing up to view all that is good and pure, and avoiding all 
that is evil in its tendency. In short, the object is to 
make the paper loved, respected, and sought after for its 
combined excellencies. 

TEEMS: $2 00 PER VOIUME, 

OR, S-1 00 PER ANN'UM. 

JSVAHIABLY IN ADVANCE. 

Each pix months completes a volume, commencing on 
the tirst of January and July ; thus making two volumes 
per year, of four hundred and sixteen pages each. 

DT?^ One copy of the Flag of our Usiox, and one copy 
of the Pictorial Drawing-Room Compakiox, one year, 
lor So UO. 

\r?^ The Pictorial Drawixg-Room Compaxion may be 
obfcUned at any of the periodical depots throughout the 
country, and of newsmen, at ten ce?tts per single copy 

Published every Satcrdav, by 

F. GLEASON, Bosrox, Mass. 

WHOLESALE AGENTS- 

S. FRENCH. 151 Nassau, cor. Spruce Street, New Yor':. 
A. WINCH, 116 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 
BURGESS. TAYLOR & Co., Ill Baltunore St., Baltunore. 
A. C. BAGLEY, 10 AVest 3d Street, Cincinnati. 
J. A. ROYS, 43 Woodward Avenue, Detroit. 
E. K. WOODWARD, cor. 4th and Chesnut, St. Louis. 
[13^ Sitb.-irriptions received at either of the nlovf plarfS 



46 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



[Written for GleaHon'H Pictorlnl.] 
STANZAS. 



DY n. MKIllt-VN PAftKE. 

Evo Uofl down with the BhadowHj 

Dow8 creep into tlio floworH ; 
rirds liavo covered their muaic up 

In I011V08 of quiet bowers. 

Enrth is dear in her hoauty, 

CrJdi as a ttoul at rent ; 
Fair aa a young wliite dove at morn, 

With (low boadfl on lior breast. 

Night treads soft and shrinkingly, 

Cares have stolen away ; 
Sleep hail opened her peaceful wingR, 

And thought haa ceused to play. 

Clouds float over the star-beams, 

Veiling the night light rare ; 
And the sound of angel wings is heard, 

Parting tlie pleasant air. 

Morn wakes up mth hor blushes, 

AVinda come over the hill, 
And sprinkle with startled blossoms, 

The breast of the laughing rill. 

Songa ring out through the woodland, 

Birds aail over the trees ; 
Flowers look up from their fragrant sleep, 

A-sby at the wild young breeze. 
< i^»— > 

[Written for Gleason'a Pictorial.) 

MR. BUMBLE'S FAMILY: 

— OK — 

ARRIVING AT A FORTUNE. 

BY GEO. CANNING HILL. 

They were all sitting together in Mrs. Bum- 
ble's snug little country parlor — the entire Bum- 
ble family. There were Mr. Bumble, and Mrs. 
Bumble, and their two very hopeful offspring, 
Joshua and Jane — only these four. And a hater 
of everything else in the world, could he have 
just looked in upon this scene, would assuredly 
have felt his ascetic heart reached by its genial 
and refining influences. 

Yes ; Mr. Bumble and wife, and their two chil- 
dren. There they were in that country parlor, 
the twilight of a summer evening just beginning 
to curtain them in. A bough of asparagus, wild 
and ragged with its rambling sprays, was stuck 
into a broken pitcher at either corner of the open 
fire-place, and Mr. Bumble on canvass was seri- 
ously staring at Mrs. Bumble on canvass, above 
the very high and very narrow mantel. 

Says Mr. Bumble — prefacing his speech with 
a very eflfective clearing of his pipes, that made 
the little parlor ring as with the rumbling deto- 
nations of an organ — says Mr. Bumble : 

" Wife, I think I shall broach the subject noiv." 

Mrs. Bumble looked up surprisedly into his 
face, and merely inquired : 

" What subject, Mr. Bumble V 

The younger Bumbles looked up likewise. 
Joshua, in particular, regarded Ins parent with a 
very peculiar look, indeed, certainly significant 
of something, but of what no one could be sup- 
posed to know. 

" You must know, Mrs. Bumble," replied her 
husband, very deliberately, " that my situation 
in life" — Joshua looked more sharply at him — 
" that is, my affairs — I mean, Mrs. Bumble — in 
short, that I am able at this day to support a 
more respectable style of living, and so forth, 
and so forth, whii-li it is quite unnecessary for 
me to mention." 

Mrs. B. bowed to liim ; Jane smiled, and 
Joshua stroked quite vigorously the green mous- 
tache he had just begun to coax out into a visi- 
ble though still sickly existence. 

" I have at length sold out my interest in the 
tallow-cIiMndlery business, and I now intend to 
keep what respectable people call an 'establish- 
ment' of my own," said Mi-. Bumble. 

" It's what I've always wanted; it's what I al- 
ways prayed for!" exclaimed Mrs. Bumble, lift- 
ing both hands. "Now we'll see if those Bid- 
dies will feel quite as grand as they liave this 
three year — hardly speaking to my Jane half the 
time, as if they were much too good for her! 
Noiv we'll see how thei/'ll feel about it !" 

"0, father!" exclaimed Jane, her face light- 
ing very strangely, "I am overjoyed !" 

" Now in order to set out in our new style of 
living as we ought," proceeded Mr. Bumble, "I 
think we must begin with taking some decided 
step." 

" Certainly," replied his wife. 

'* By all means !" added Jane. 

" What shall that step be ?" asked Mr. Bum- 
ble, addressing himself especially to his son 



Joshua. " You, Joslnm, have hud advantages 
greater than ours for seeing good society, and 
therefore I put the question to i/oit. What do 
i/ou think best to do, Joshua V 

"Father," replied Joshua, as if with much 
thought, still continuing to stroke his green 
niouslaehe, " father, I am of the opinion that we 
ought to make some fashionable excursion, the 
first thing we do !" 

" An excursion I O, yes, an excursion !" ex- 
claimed Iiis sister, already fancying liorsclf on 
the water. 

" Yes, Joshua would know wliat is fashionable 
and genteel, and tliem things, if anybody would," 
quoth his doting mother. 

" An excursion," said Mr. Bumble. " Where 
shall it I)c then, Joshua?" 

" Some folks prefer Newport," said Joshua; 
" and some Saratoga, and some again, tlic White 
Mountains, and some Cape May, and some 
Moosehcad Lake. Anybody can have his 
choice." 

" But wliat do -i/on tlunk would be the most 
genteel V pursued his father. 

" Yes, what do i/oa think would V persisted 
his mother. 

" Well, I must say I give tlie preference to 
Newport," he tlioughtfnlly replied. The look of 
wisdom he, at this point, assumed, it would be 
out of our power to describe. " Newport is the 
resort of the most fashionable, as well as the 
most wealthy people. On that account, I give it 
the preference for ourselves. It will be a much 
greater thing to tell of next winter, that we went 
to Newport this summer, than to Naliant, or Co- 
hasset, or Moosehead. You know, father, a 
great deal in these matters depends upon how 
they arc going to sound ; and I like the sound 
of Newport." 

" And so do I," added his well-awakened sister. 

"Joshua's right; Josliua's always right," said 
his fond mother. 

" Then to Newport it is," replied Mr. Bumble ; 
" and you had better all get ready." 

Greater results never grew out of any similar 
family gathering. It was on the morning of the 
fourth day after this conversation, it being what 
they termed " bright and early," that a capa- 
cious carriage received the entire and undivided 
Bumble family, and rolled them away to the cars. 
Upon the railroad, their time was brief, admit- 
ting of but few facilities for the very earnest 
character of their ordinary conversation. But 
when they took the steamboat at Providence, 
and their own eyes beheld for themselves the 
crowds that were embarking and had embarked, 
their tongues broke suddenly loose from their 
thraldom ; yet their hearts more than half mis- 
gave. They looked to Joshua for advice and 
example both. 

" Come aboard, father," said he, walking over 
the plank with his sister. " We're all right, I 
believe, I'll see to the baggage afterwards." 

And Mr. Joshua Bumble led them through 
long lines of passengers, up steep and difficult 
steps to the promenade deck, where he managed 
to secure a seat for the ladies beneath the flap- 
ping awning. 

" Ah, this is fine !" exclaimed his father. 
" This is veri/ fine !" 

" Elegant !" added Mrs. Bumble. 

Jane Euml)le only looked about her in speech- 
less astonishment. Josliua went to look after 
the baggage, and to secure the tickets, having 
already been careful to secure a liberal part of 
his father's purse. All things accomplislied, the 
boat at lengtJi shot away from the end of the 
wharf, and their ears and eyes were full for at 
least a quarter of an hour succeeding. That 
space of time was to them a period of silence — 
perhaps of valuable meditation. 

On their way down the bay, the breeze spring- 
ing up refreshingly, the spirits of the entire party 
freshened up in a similar manner. Joshua took 
additional courage on seeing his friends so much 
at their ease, and went over tlie boat very much 
at random. 

In the course of his peregrinations, he hap- 
pened to reach a particular spot on deck, near 
which sat a most bewitching young lady. A 
gentleman stood near lier, dressed in a style that 
with many would be considered unquestionable. 
He at length spied Joshua, and ventured to 
break in upon his reflections. In less than half 
an hour, Mr. Joshua Bumble and Mr. Maddock 
were apparently the friends of half a life-time's 
acquaintance. It was, indeed, most wonderful, 
how rapidly the cement was formed between two 
so genial and sympathizing natures. Mr. Mad- 
dock invited Joshua down to the bnr to drink 



with him, leaving the lady quite alone. Joslnia 
of course, thought this not only all right, but ex- 
actly in the eye of fashionable and gentlemanly 
practices. So the two fiiends went down [deas- 
antly together. 

The stranger insisted on becoming acquainted 
with Mr. Bumble's friends ; and both he and the 
lady in his company were introduced — the lattt-r 
with no special cognomen. IIcruMtlorlh l)oth 
parties united tlieir social forces, and made quite 
a pleasant union on deck. Joshua began to make 
love to the strange lady, who seemed herself not 
in the least disposed to avoid his agreeable ad- 
vances. Tilings went so far at length, that lie 
actually seated himself at her side, and addressed 
himself to her during pretty much tlic rest of the 
sail to Newport. 

"You go to the Ocean House?" said the 
strange gentleman to the Bumble family, as they 
finally touched the dock. 

The rest looked instinctively at Joshua, and 
he eventually mumbled out, " yes, yes, certainly." 

" We have secured private board," returned 
the gay stranger, stroking his hirsute face, "No. 
17 Street. Come and sec us often." 

" We will — we certainly will," said Joshua, 
looking very tenderly at the lady ; and the two 
very interesting strangers waved themselves 
away. 

" How agreeable !" remarked Mrs. Bumble, 
looking after them. 

" No such people in Barborville," added Jane 
Bumble. 

It was a strange and mysterious passage in 
the history of the Bumble family — their passsge 
from the boat to the hotel, and thence to their 
rooms. It was evident that much had been go- 
ing on in the busy world, with which they had as 
yet formed no personal acquaintance. 

Mrs. Bumble at length sat down in an arm- 
chair, and remarked, as with her last departing 
breath, that she was " most crazy." Jane thought 
it delightful ; and Joshua — he was full of lilue 
eyes, and auburn curls, and gauze dresses with 
lively figures. His tongue ran incessantly. 

We need not stop to detail too particularly. 
The Bumbles took their meals very much as 
other families of wealth are wont fd do at such 
places, and made almost superhuman efforts to 
appear at their ease. They watched everybody 
with Argus eyes, and tried to do exactly as every- 
body did. They solemnly felt this to be their 
first lesson in fashionable life. No schoolboy's 
lesson was ever harder to master. 

Mr. Joshua Bumble began to be absent much 
of his time from his family. He was very much 
in the company of Mr. Maddock. They seemed - 
inseparable friends. They bathed together, 
walked together, rode together, and did almost 
everything else together. There was no telling 
what friends were ever like them before. 

But this was not all. Being much in Mr. 
Maddock's society, he naturally saw much of the 
lady. He thought he knew enough of her to 
know that she was not Mr. Maddock's wife. 
He felt even sure of that. Still he knew there 
was some mystery about it. He went with the 
lady quite often to the sea-shore. He occasion- 
ally rode with her, too. At all these times, her 
companion happened very fortunately to be 
absent. 

He made an engagement with her one evening, 
just at dusk, for a long promenade by the shore. 
It was a witching time, and the soul of Joshua 
Bumble was full of love. It bad all along been 
filling — now, it seemed full. He seized lier hand 
fervidly, and told her all the secrets of his wild 
heart. It was indeed an exciting history. She 
simply listened, and gently encouraged him. 

Just at that same hour, too, Mr. Maddock was 
in the parlor of the Bumble family, at the hotel. 
All seemed to wonder where Joshua could be — 
Mr. Maddock more than all. 

The lady invited Joshua to return with her to 
her house. Mr. Bumble ravenously assented, 
and they soon reached home together. 

They were sitting on a sofa in the lady's par- 
lor, Joshua Bumble holding her white hand. 
Her blue eyes were cast down, though ever and 
anon she glanced nervously to the door. Joshua 
at that took courage. He slipped one arm about 
her delicate waist, and was in the act of kissing 
her. The door opened suddenly, and Mr. Bum- 
ble's party all came in, Mr. Maddock escorting 
them ! As soon as that gentleman saw the posi- 
tion in which Joshua had venturesomely placed 
himself, he sprang towards him with the ferocity 
of a tiger, and was clutching him by the throat. 
Mrs, Bumble screamed at the top of ber voice, 
and Miss Jane, if possible, pitched her melody 
several notes higher. Mr. Bumble, senior, seiz' d 



his son, and protested that there must be some 
mistake. But Mr. Maddock knew better. He 
heard nothing, cither. The lady fainted and 
fell to the floor. The gentlemen stopped hostll- 
ities only to assist her; during which lime, Joshua 
managed to make his escape, his mother and 
sister following after, with their devoted oflers of 
])rotcction. 

It was some time before the lady was restored 
to consciousness. Mr. Maddock upbraided her 
for her conduct cruelly. She wrung her hands 
and wept bitterly. 

Late at niglit, Mr. Bumble, senior, said to his 
wife: "I think we had better pack up and go 
home. I have just barely saved Joshua's life; 
but it cost me five hundred dollars !" 

The next forenoon the Bumble family did 
leave; but the accomplished strangers liad left 
before them, jingling their cheaply got fund.s, 
and pushing oft" for a new field for their very 
enterprising laboi's. 



[Written for Oleason's Pictorial.] 
REFOR3IATION. 

BY J. P. WEI8HAMPEL, JR. 



Wild fiouls ambitious, toil for fume, 

Struggling to be the strongest ; 
Playing with common men a game, 

That each may rule the longest. 
Bartering themselves, they sell their kin, 

M.iking each man a debtor ; — 
Ah ! it is thne that reform begin ; 

Wc should strive to make men better ! 

A lead these souls unscrupulous take, 

In the road all men are racing ; 
They care not a whit for their brethren's sake. 

So eager are they in chasing. 
The countless crimes of the men called great, 

Arc printed in scarlet letter, 
And they warn us now, ere it be too late, 

We should strive to make men better! 

"NVe live in the mom of a better age. 

That demands no human killing ; 
Our race is sick of the fearful rage, 

That delights in life-blood spilling. 
Old earth recoils as she turns and sees 

The example the past has set her ; — 
Her future should have no deeds like these ; 

We should strive to make men better I 

A LONDON ALDERMAN'S NOSE. 

Suppose the case of a burly, jovial, corpulent 
alderman, standing heliind such an appendage, 
with all its indorsements, riders, addenda, extra- 
parochial appurtenances, and Taliacotian s^^p- 
plements, like a sow with her whole litter of pigs, 
or {to speak more respectfully) like a venerable 
old abbey, with all its projecting chapels, orato- 
ries, refectories and abutments ; and it will seem 
to dilate itself before its wearer with an air of 
portly and appropriate companionship. I speak 
not here of a simple bottle-nose, but one of a 
thousand bottles, a pol^q^e talons enormity, whose 
blushing honoi-s, as becoming to it as the stars, 
crosses and ribbons of a successful general, are 
trophies of past victories, the colors won in tav- 
eni-campaigns. They recall to us the clatter of 
knives, the slaughter of turtle, the shedding of 
claret, the deglutition of magnums. Escurient 
and bibulous reminiscences ooze from its surface, 
and each protuberance is historical. One is the 
record of a Pitt-club dinner; another of a corpo- 
ration feast ; a third commemorates a tipsy ca- 
rousal, in support of religion and social order ; 
others attest their owner's civic career, "until, 
at last, he devoured his way to the lord mayor's 
mansion, as a mouse in a cheese makes a large 
house for himself by continually eating;" and 
the whole pendulous mass, as if it heard the strik- 
ing up of the band at a public dinner on the en- 
trance of the viands, actually seems to wag to 
the tune of " 0, the roast beef of Old England !" 
— Horace Smith's Gaieties and Gravities. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial. 1 
TO A FRIEND. 

BY CAROLINE A. HAYDEN. 

Go, mingle with the world again. 
It may not tempt thee now ; 

Too much of deep and earnest thought 
Is stamped upon thy brow. 

Thou wilt not stoop to wear the chain 
Which folly's hand may weave; 

Thou wilt not bend before a shrine, 
Which can no more deceive. 

The lessons of the past have been 

The guardians of thy fate ; 
And still around thy future path 

Their memories shall wait. 

Go, nunglo with the world again, 

And win thyself a name ; 
The one thou leav'st is pure and good, 

But still unknown to fame. 

And when the honors time must bring 
Are circling round thy brow, 

Kemember one who on thy head 
Invokes life's blessings now. 



GLEASON'S PICTOEIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



47 



A liADY PRACTITIOKER. 

A con-espondent of tlie New York Tribune 
says : " A lady practitioner of medicine, in our 
village, is in advance of the recent movement, 
for she has been a professor of the healing art 
nearly twenty years. She studied with her hus- 
band, who is a physician of established repute, 
and commenced practice under his auspices, 
having her own set of patients. Their nmnbcr 
rapidly increased, in pan owing to her success, 
and in part, it is supposed, that her charges were 
more moderate than those of the doctor. He is 
above feeling any jealousy, however, of the ris- 
ing reputation of his wife, and they continue to 
ride their respective rounds in attendance on the 
hick. The lady is employed chiefly by the suffer- 
ing of her own sex, and for children, and pos- 
sesses the entire confidence of all who know her. 
It is to be supposed that consultations are held 
in difficult cases. Mi"s. G. is a woman of admir- 
able energy, and has reared a large family of 
children, seeing to the concerns of her household, 
as well as attending to her professional duties. 
Those interested in the establishment of a medi- 
cal college for women, would, perhaps, like to 
have her report of her metliod and success in the 
treatment of disease." 



BUILDING IN NEW YORK. 

The Herald contains an account of a number 
of new buildings now going up in the city of 
New York, chiefly for private residences, most 
of which that journal represents as of magnifl- 
cent and beautiful styles of architecture. Among 
the private residences is one for Samuel Nichol- 
son, estimated to cost $40,000 ; another, for J. 
Gibson, $35,000 ; and a number for dilferent in- 
dividuals costing from slightly beneath $40,000 
to $20,000 each. M. 0. Roberts is building two 
that will cost $50,000. Eorty-two of these mag- 
niticent mansions will cost an aggregate of 
$1,170,000, averaging $27,000 each. One firm 
of two partners is building seven that are to cost 
$270,000 (nearly $39,000 a piece), which, when 
completed, might almost be styled a row of 

palaces. 

< »■» > 

GOLD IX AUSTRALIA. 

The Whitehaven Herald gives the following 
information respecting the first discovery of gold 
in Australia : " The first piece found was by a 
native. He was a bushman. The scale of in- 
tellect of the Australians is remarkable for its 
lowness. Seeing his master counting a lot of 
sovereigns, he said he had found a picue of ' yel- 
low stutf,* far bigger than all those together, 
which he had hidden, and would bring it to his 
master, if he would give him a new suit of cor- 
duroy. Tlie bargain was stmck, after whicli the 
man went and produced a lump of Golconda, 
weighing one hundred and six pounds, and val- 
ued at £5,077 4s. 6." 



VENERABLE 3IATRON. 

Madame Eoussin, of Washington county, 
Missouri, is ninety-seven years of age, and in 
good health- She has seen her fom-th genera- 
tion, amounting to three hundred and thirty 
souls. She was married in 1775, and, as may 
readily be supposed, there were but few Ameri- 
cans resident in that State within the remotest 
period of her recollection. She has been a wid- 
ow for thirty-nine years. By her marriage, she 
was the mother of five sons and five daughters. 



A Singular Sight. — M. Hue, in his travels 
in Tartary, Thibet and China, while traversing 
a mountain region in the Isaidcn Mongol coun- 
try, witnessed the strange spectacle of a herd of 
yaks frozen in the stream which they had at- 
tempted to cross. The ice was so transparent 
that they looked as if still swimming; but the 
eagles and ravens had picked out their eyes. 



Aktistic. — The Indianapolis papers are in- 
formed by JMr. Adams, who has charge of the 
Greek Slave, now exhibiting at that place, that 
he has within a day or two received du-ectious 
from Mr. Powers to send the statue to Europe, 
as it has been sold. 



CoMMEKCiAL. — A compauy is forming in 
London, with a capital of two millions sterling, 
to establish a line of steamers between that city 
and New York. 



Sharks. — Three sharks w^ere caught in 
Charleston harbor, on Tuesday the 22d ult. 



Dull Times. — There are twenty-two steam- 
boats now laid up at St. Loui^. 



lUajjsiiie ©atljcrings. 

The penitentiary system is said to work well 
in Texas. 

The passage from Noifolk to New York, was 
made last week by a steamer in 25 hours. 

Eecent frosts in Kentucky, it is said, have de- 
stroyed whole beds of tobacco plants. 

The violent slamming of a door will, it is said, 
kill young canary birds in their shell. 

The cat-o'-nine tails must have as many lives 
as tails, or it never could have lasted so long. 

The fly is said to be doing great damage to 
the wlieat in Albemarle, Orange, Amherst and 
Culpepper counties, Virginia. 

Louis Napoleon has been vehemently opposed 
in the council, on the question of the new sump- 
tuary laws that he has indicated. 

A strong decoction of rue is an inf;^llible rem- 
edy for tetter-worm. It is as simple as it is effi- 
cacious. 

Col. George C Washington, of Montgomery 
County, Md., has a field of rye which averages 
seven feet in height. 

Over fifty instances of corporeal punishment 
occurred in a single public school in Williams- 
burgh, New York, during last week. 

A good lotion for weak eyes is said to be : 20 
drops of laudanum and five drops of brandy, in 
a wine-glass of water, applied three times a day, 
as warm as the eyes can bear it. 

From present indications the grape crop of 
Pennsylvania promises to be most abundant, 
and the prospect for a full harvest exceeds that 
of any previous year. 

If you wish to re-fasten the loose handles of 
knives and forks, make your cement of common 
brickdust and rosin, melted together. Seal en- 
gravers understand this recipe. 

Master Paul Julien, the child violinist from 
Paris, has an-ived, and will soon give us an op- 
portunity of judging how far he deserves the ce- 
lebrity which preceded him. 

The artists of Boston are about forming an 
academy of the fine arts, and purpose having 
semi-annual exhibitions. Governor Boutwell 
has been elected the president. 

The clip of Western wool this year is estimated 
to exceed that of 1851, from 10 to 15 per cent. 
In the State of Ohio alone, the clip is now esti- 
mated at from 12,000,000 to 14,000,000 pounds. 
Abijah Lamed, the notorious burglar and 
bank robber, was convicted on the 26th ult., in 
Cooperstown, New York, of the robbery of the 
Otsego County Bank, of $35,000. 

Mr. Thomas Cole, a prominent and worthy 
citizen of Salem, lately died of heart complaint, 
aged 72. He was a graduate of Harvard Uni- 
versity, in the class of 1798 — the class of Chan- 
ning, Story and Tuckerman. 

A Yankee writing from the West, to his fath- 
er, speaks of its great matrimonial facilities, and 
ends by making the following suggestion : " Sup- 
pose you get our girls some new teeth, and send 
them out." 

Mr. Humphrey, a dyer in the employ of the 
Staunton (Va.) woolen factory, was accidentally 
precipitated into a vat of boiling water, lately, 
and so horribly scalded that he died in a few 
hours, iifterwards. 

Hon. John M. Clayton is industriously culti- 
vating his farm, three miles from Newcastle, 
Delaware. Instead of running a race with com- 
petitors in the political field, he is endeavoring 
to distance his overseer in agricultural pursuits. 
Madame Goldschmidt was met, on her arrival 
in England, by an offer of six thousand pounds 
for twelve concerts — a snm greater than has ever 
been gained by a singer in Europe by a similar 
engagement. 

The supreme court of Pennsylvania is still in 
session at Harrisburg. The one hour rule is en- 
forced upon attorneys in making their arguments. 
The vast amount of business on hand renders 
the rule indispensable. 

A rattlesnake was killed in Marion, S. C, re- 
cently, measuring five feet eleven inches in 
length, and eleven and three quarter inches 
around the largest part of the body, with seven- 
teen rattles and a button. 

The report of the Board of Education of the 
city of New York shows that there are 213 
schools under its jurisdiction, having 40,035 
scholar.5. The whole number of children taught 
during 1851 was 116,600, and the whole expen- 
diture for the year amounted to $309,016 51. 

One of the stones in the Black Eock flouring 
mills, near Buffalo, New York, burst, lately, 
while making 190 revolutions per minute. The 
foreman, Isaac Lap, and a hand named James 
Gann, were seriously injured ; the latter, it is 
feared, fatally. The building was much torn. 

The telegraph wire near Galena, 111., was 
struck lately by atmospheric lightning, and melt- 
ed for about three hundred yards, and more or 
less injured for half a mile. A spectator who 
saw the stroke, describes the electrical exhibition 
as a chain of fire, stretching both ways as far as 
he could see across the landscape. 

A large bald male eagle which, with its mate, 
had inhabited " Dole's Woods," at Stroudwater, 
Maine, and reared young year after year for 
forty or fifty years past, was shot a few days 
ago, by a person living in the vicinity. It had 
lately got to be very ferocious, and did much 
damage among the poultry of the neighborhood. 
It was feared it might next attack children, and 
it was shot. 



J^onign lllisccllaug. 

Sivori is playing in London. 

The governor of Rangoon had offered 50 ru- 
pees for every head of a white man. 

The weather is cold, but not unfavorable to 
the growing crops, which are looking well. 

Mr. Hackett, the American comedian, is at 
present in London, making up a company for 
Niblo. 

American books are now sold in England, at 
the cost price of importation, with a small addi- 
tion for commissions. 

The Independent Dissenters of Lancashire, 
England, are going to erect fifty additional inde- 
pendent chapels in that county within the next 
five years, at an expense of £150,000. 

The persecuting spirit has arisen in various 
parts of Germany, and the attacks seem to be 
mainly directed against missionaries or colpor- 
tcui^ supported by American and British Bap- 
tists. 

The recent foreign advices state that in Swit- 
zerland the Jews are persecuted to the utmost 
degree. In the cantons of Bale they have been 
ordered to leave the country within ten days, 
and to carry away their goods. 

The new govemor of Malta, a strict Presb}'- 
terian, has given offence to the military and in- 
habitants by neglecting the carnival, shutting the 
military up for three days, to prevent their par- 
ticipation in the fun, and shunning all balls and 
festivals. 

A splendid work has just been issued from 
the government press iu France, called " The 
Siege of Rome," being a comprchensire account 
of all the operations of the French army before 
Rome in the summer of 1848. It is finely illus- 
trated with maps and plans. 

From Denmark, it is stated that the capital is 
about to be endowed with a Crystal Palace, after 
the designs of Professor Hetsch. This edifice is 
to occupy a surface of four thousand eight hun- 
dred square metres — and is destined for exhibi- 
tion of the fine arts. 

Rev. J. G. Oncken, while assisthig the pastor 
of a Baptist church in Berlin, where they antici- 
pated a time of revival, was ordered to leave the 
Prussian territory without delay. He had been 
banished in 1841, and again in 1846, but sup- 
posed that these edicts were not now in force. 

To those wlio have shall be given, is a true 
saying, and therefore we are not surprised to hear 
that a movement is on foot in London to pur- 
chase, by public subscription, and the presenta- 
tion to the Duke of Wellington, of Salter's pic- 
ture of the Waterloo banquet. 



lokcr'0 Buiiget. 



Sanbs of ©oli. 



.... True love and high morality are the 
same. 

Hasty people drink the nectar of exist- 
ence scalding hot. 

.... He who would die sooner or later than 
he ought is a coward. 

.... If you would not have affliction visit you 
twice, listen at once to that it teaches. 

.... He who loves his purse alone has set his 
affections on the best thing about him. 

.... With what different eyes do we view an 
action when it is our own and when it is another's. 

What we wish to do we think we can do, 

but when we do not wish a thing it becomes im- 
possible. 

.... It were well if old age were traly second 
childhood; it is seldom more like it than the 
berry is to the rose-bud. 

.... As we go on in life we find we cannot 
afford excitement, and we leani to be parsimoni- 
ous in our emotions. 

.... Instead of regretting that we are some- 
times deceived, we should rather lament that we 
are ever undeceived. 

.... As the heart is crushed and lacerated by 
a loss in the afl^ections, so it is rather the head 
that aches and suflf'ers by the loss of memory. 

Cheerfulness is a matter which depends 

fully as much on the state of things within as on 
the state of things without and around ns. 

The great struggles in life are limited to 

moments ; in the drooping of the head upon the 
bosom, — in the pressure of the hand upon the 
brow. 

.... Politeness is the outward ganuent of 
good-will ; but many are the nutshells in which, 
if you crack them, notliing like a kernel is to be 
found. 

Our minds are like ill-hung vehicles, 

when they have little to cairy they raise a pro- 
digious clatter, when heavily laden they neither 
creak nor rumble. 

.... What the impulse of genius is to the 
great, the instinct of vocation is to the mediocre ; 
in every man there is a magnet, — in that thing 
which the man can do best there is a loadstone. 

.... One Iialf of mankind pass their lives in 
thinking how they shall get a dinner, and the 
other in thinking what dinner they shall get; 
and the first are much less injured by occasional 
fasts than are the latter by constant feasts. 

.... In matters of great concern, and which 
must be done, there is no surer arg-ument of a 
weak mind than irresolution ; to be undetermined 
where the case is so plain, and the necessity so 
urgent; to be always _ intending to lead anew 
life, but never to find time to set about it. 



The letter A makes men mean. 

When is a fortune like an appendage to a 
vessel •? AVhen it is amassed. (A mast.) 

A coquette is said to be a perfect incarnation 
of Cupid, as she keeps her beau in a quiver. 

An inquiring individual wants to know how 
many stories Dickens's Bleak House is to have. 

" Wood is the thing, after all," as the man 
with the wooden leg said when the mad dog 
bit It. 

Why is a beautiful lady's foot like a romantic 
tale of olden times ? Because it is an interesting 
leg-eml ! 

Why is a blacksmith like a counterfeiter 1 
Because he makes a living hy forging. Take 
your foot oft' that. 

After all, there are only two sorts of disease, 
says a French doctor — one of which you die, and 
the other of which you don't. 

The man who " cracks his sides " ten hours 
after a man " cracks a joke," arrived late last 
night, by a very slow coach indeed. 

Dr. Francis says if young people would avoid 
palpitation of the heart, they must give up hug- 
ging and kissing. Youths who worship moon- 
light will please notice. 

A minister at camp meeting said, " If the lady 
w^ith blue hat, red hair, and cross eyes, don't 
stop talking, she will be pointed out to the con- 
gregation." 

Did you ever see a woman who did not want 
a few more dry goods, or a young lady who did 
not look upon a shawl that cost under ten dol- 
lars, as " a perfect fright ?" 

Suspect a man who shakes hands gingerly. 
Knuckles, like walnuts, were made to be cracked. 
A rascal knows no more about a hearty welcome 
than he knows about contentment. 

A dentist presented a bill for the tenth time to 
a rich skinflint. " It strikes me," said the latter, 
"that this is a pretty round bill." " Yes," re- 
plied the dentist, "I've sent it round often 
enough to make ic appear so ; and I have called 
now to get it squared." 



VOLUMES 1st & 2d. 

GLEASOX'S PICTORIAL. 

We havo volumes 1st and 2d of the Pictorial Drawing 
Room Companion elegantly bound in cloth, with gilt edgea 
and back, and illumined sides, forming a superb and most 
attractive parlor ornament in the shape of a book of 

Between Four and Five Hundred Pages, 

AND CONTAINING NEARLY 

ONE THOUSAND ENGRAVINGS 

of Men, Manners, and current Events all over the world ; 
of Scenery in all parts of the Globe; of famous Cities, and 
beautiful Villages ; of Pageants at homi and abroad; of 
fine Maritime Views ; and, in short, of an infinite variety 
of interesting and instructive subjects ; with an 

ILLUMINED TITLE-PAGE AND INDEX 

of great beauty and artistic excellence, and forming avery 
brilliant frontispiece to the volume. 

Besides the many illustrations, it embraces in its pages 
avast amount of original Tales, Sket<;hes, Poems and Nov- 
elettes, from the best of American authors, with a current 
News Record of the times ; altogether foruiing an exceed- 
ingly novel and elegant volume, for future reference and 
present enjoyment, both in regard to reading matter and 
illustrations. 

For sale at the Publication Office, by our Wholesale 
Agents, and at all the Periodical Depots throughout the 
Union, for Three Dollars per volume. 



THE FLAG OF OUR MIOK, 

AX ELEGANT, MORAL AND EEFINED 

Miscellaneous Painily Journal, 

Devoted to polite literature, wit and humor, prose and 
poetic gems, and original prize tales, ■\vritten expressly for 
this paper, and at a very great cost. In politics, and on 
all sectarian questions, it is strictly neutral. Nothing of 
an immoral nature will ever be admitted into its columns ; 
therefore making it emphatically, 

A PAPEE FOR THE WOXICN, 

AND A -WELCOME VISITOR TO THE HOME CIRCLE. 

It is generally acknowledged that the Flag is now the 
leading weehly paper in the United Stales, and its literary 
contents are allowed, by the best judges, to be unsurpassed. 

It contains the foreign and domestic news of the daj', 
so condensed as to enable us to give the greatest possible 
amount of intelligence. No advertisements are admitted 
to the paper, thus offering the entire sheet, which is of 

THE MAMMOTH SIZE, 

for the instruction and amusement of the general reader. 
An unrivalled corps of contributors are regularly engaged, 
and every department is under the most finished and per- 
fect system that experience can suggest, or money produce. 
Lacking neither the means nor the will, we can lay before 
our hundreds of thousands of readers an 

©IBlKB'SSS'AILi IFAIFUlEg 

tile present circulation of which far exceeds that of any 
other weekly paper in the Union. 

TERMS TO StrBSCRIBEES. 

1 subscriber, one year ©2 00 

3 subscribers, " 5 00 

4 " <' 6 00 

8 " " 11 00 

16 " " 20 00 

One copy of the Flag op our Union, and one copy of the 
Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, one year, for ©5-00. 

tCT" Invariably in advance. 

Subscribers or postmasters are requested to act as agents, 
and form clubs, on the above terms. 

D:7= All orders should be addressed, POST PAID, to the 
Publisher op the Flag of our Union. 

%* Tne Flag can he obtained at any of the newspayc 
depots in the United States, and of nnvspaper carriers, at 
POUR CENTS per single copy. 

F. GLEASON, 
Publisher and Proprietor, Boston, Mass. 



48 



GLEASONS riCTOrjAL DRAWINd ROOAF COMPANION. 




EESCUX OF RUEZ GOAZALEb. SCENE FROM ''THE HEARTS SECRET. 



ANECDOTES OF CHARLES II, 

The elder Rirliai-d.son ivas fond of tcllino: a 
charjiclcristic story of tlie king and kingly honor. 
A cut-pnrsc, or pickpocket, with as much cflion- 
tery of face as dexterity of finger, had got into 
the drawing-room on the king's hirthday, dress- 
ed like a gentleman, and was detected, by the king 
himself, taking a gold snutf-box out of a certain 
earl's pocket. The rogue, wlio saw the sove- 
reign's eye upon him, put his finger to his no?e, 
and made a sign to the king with a wink to say 
nothing. Charles took the hint, and watching 
the earl, enjoyed Jiis feeling, first in one pocket 
and then in another, for his missing box. Tiie 
king now called the nobleman to him. 

" You need not give yourself," he said, '* any 
more trouble about it, my lord ; your box is 
gone ; I am myself an accomplice ; I could not 
help it — I was made a confidant." 

"When told that the emperor of Morocco had 



made him a present of two lions and thirty os- 
triches, he laughed, and said he knew nothing 
more proper to send by way of return than a 
flock of geese. Of Harrow church, standing on 
a hill, and visible for miles round, lie is said to 
have remarked that it was the only visible church 
he knew ; and when taken to see a fellow climb 
up the outside of a church to the very pinnacle, 
and there stand on his head, he off^cred him, on 
coming do^^ii, a patent to prevent anyone doing- 
it but himself. When he was on his death-bed, 
the queen sent him a message that she was too 
unwell to resume her post by the couch, and im- 
plored pardon for any offence she had given him. 
" She asks my pardon, poor woman," cried 
Charles; " I ask hers with all my heart;" and 
in his last moments he apologized to those round 
him for the trouble he had caused. He had been a 
most unconscionable time in dying, but he hoped 
they would excuse him. — Stonj of Nell Givjn. 




CREOLE HOSPITALITY. 

The following \h an extract from N. P. AVil- 
lis'rt hist letter from Martiniijue, Willis has a 
(lisrcrning eye for whatever is tran.spiring; and 
gathers tluiughts of interest where most other 
persons would find notliing to elicit notice, or 
awaken observation : 

" I must incorporate, into thifi mention of the 
Kuburlw of St. Pierre, an incident which occnn-i-d 
to us on the other side of the city, and which 
will illustrate the kind manners of these uuccri- 
rnonitjus dwellers in tlic country. Mr. G. ami 
myself had mounted the high liill which over- 
looks the bay, shutting in the town on tlie south- 
cm side, but' found it difficult to get a view with- 
out encroaching upon the private girninds of the 
beautiful villas which edge the decliviry. Seeing 
a gate temptingly open, however, and which led 
to a terrace overhanging a bold jirccipiee we had 
walked under, we ventured in. The blinds of 
the house were closed, as it was still the lingei"- 
ing hour of the siesta ; but a scat stood invitingly 
before us, and upon this we made ourselves com- 
fortable, supposing we had done .'^o unobserved. 
The city lay at a biscuit-toss beneath us, tlie 
harbor spread away before, and the verdure-laden 
mountains rose in grand magnificence beyond ; 
and we were giving our eyes their first cursory 
feast upon all this, when there was a rattle of 
opening sliutters in the house behind. A bare- 
footed ncgress was at our elbow the next mo- 
ment, with the compliments of madame and a 
request that we would walk in. Thinking that 
we might have been mistaken for authorized vis- 
itors, I explained that we were only intruders, 



desirous of getting a view from the terrace, and 
charged the servant with oin* apology and a hope 
that we should not give the lady (jf the house 
any trouble. We rose to go, with this, but, up- 
on the portico liefore us, stood a tall and slight 
lady, of a manner of very high-bred repose and 
ea-sy self-po.ssession, who repeated the invitation 
with a graciou-iuess it was impossible to decline. 
We followed her into a large drawing-room fur- 
nished with French elegance and liixuriousnesR, 
aiul after enlightening her as to our country and 
our purposes of travel, conversation turned ujjon 
general topics, and a half-Jiour passed away verv 
delightfully. Two lovely children bounded in, 
after a whde, giving me an opportunity of de- 
scribing those I had l(;ft at home, aiid, with 
these more jjcrsonal topics, we wei'c soon as well 
acquainted, at least, as a letter of introduciion 
would have made us. The mingled ease and 
dignity of our fair entertainer impressed my 
friend as well as myself very strongly. It was 
the French courtliness with the Creole abandon- 
ment to indolent grace. The setting sun was 
throwing its yellow rays into the room when we 
rose to go, but it was with gi*eat difficulty wc re- 
sisted a pressing invitation to remain to dinner, 
or to take wine or some refreshment before leav- 
ing. A request that wc would repeat our visit, 
and a profusion of compliments in return for 
our expressions of grateful pleasure, sent us on 
our way with renewed wonder upon what planet 
of unworldlincss wc had dropped — a feeling 
which every new change we have as yet experi- 
enced in Martinique, seems but to confirm and 
brighten." 




COIN PRESS AT THE MINT, PHILADELPHIA. 



[See p. 40 for description.] 



MAIN STEAM ENGINE AT TIIE MINT, PHILADELPHIA^, 



I'^Qc p. 40 
for .'.oflcviiiEinn.l 



MICHAEL FARADAY. 

Michael Faraday, England's most eminent 
chemist, was borii in 1794, the son of a poor 
blacksmith. He was early apprenticed to one 
Ribcau, a book-binder, in Blandford street, and 
worked at the craft until he was twenty-two years 
of age. Whilst an apprentice, his master called 
the attention of one of his customers, Mr. Dance, 
of Manchester street, to an electrical machine 
and other things which the young man had 
made; and MrrDance, who was one of the old 
members of the Royal Institution, took him to 
hear the last four lectures which Sir Humphrey 
Davy gave there as professor. Faraday attend- 
ed, and seating himself in the gallery, took notes 
of the lectures, and, at a future time, sent his 
manuscript to Davy, with a short and modest 
account of Iiimself, and a request, if it were pos- 
sible, for scientific employment in the labors of 
the laboratory. Davy, struck with the clearness 
and accuracy of the memoranda, and confiding 
in the talents and pcrscAxrance of the ^vl•iter, 
offered him, upon the occurrence of a vacancy in 
the laborator}', in the beginning of 1813, the post 
of assistant, which he accepted. At the end of the 
year he accompanied Davy and his lady over 
the continent, as secretary and assistant, and in. 
1815 returned to his duties in the laboratory, 
and ultimately became FuUerian Professor. 

Mr. Paraday's researches and discoveries have 
raised him to the highest rank among European 
philosophers, while his faculty of expounding to 
a general audience the result of his recondite in- 
vestigations, makes him one of the most attrac- 
tive lecturers of the age. He has selected the 
most difficult and perplexing departments of 
physical science — the investigation of the recip- 
rocal relations of heat, light and magnetism, and 
electricity ; and by many years of patient and 
profound study, has contributed greatly to sim- 
plify our ideas on this subject. It is the hope of 
this philosopher that, should life and health be 
spared, ho will be able to show that the impon- 



derable agencies just mentioned, are so many 
manifestations of one and the same force. Mr. 
Faraday's great achievements are recognized by 
the learned societies of every country in Europe ; 
and the University of Oxford, in 1832, did itself 
the honor of enrolling him among her Doctors 
of the Law. In private life he is beloved for the 
simplicity and truthfulness of his character, and 
the kindliness of his disposition. — Me/i of the 
Times, {/i 1852. 



A TOUCinNG INCIDENT. 

The Louisville Democrat relates the following : 
" An aged mother — a woman of seventy yearsof 
age — left her home in the Emerald Island some 
ten weeks ago, to seek the abode of her children, 
who now reside at Louisville. Afier a tedious 
passage, and the trouble incident to a long jour- 
ney, she reached this city from New Orleans, 
last Monday night, on board the Alexander 
Scott, and soon she was surrounded by her chil- 
dren. Her son was the first to see her, and he 
hastened to inform his sister of their mother's 
arrival. They met — the mother and thcdaugliter 
— in one long embrace, which ouh- ended as the 
infirm mother sank with excitement to the floor. 
She had swooned away in the rapturous enjoy- 
ment of beholding, once more, a daughter so 
long lost. She pronounced a lilesying upon her 
children, and fainted away. Whenever restorcl 
to consciousness, the sight of her children, and 
the pleasing recollection of their presence, would 
overcome her with emotions, and again and 
again she would faint in their arms. Physicians 
were called to her aid, but could afford her no 
relief. For two days she continued in this con- 
dition, until worn out by fatigue and excite- 
ment, exhausted nature gave way, and the 
mother now 'sleeps well' in the new green eartli 
of her new made home. How strange, how sor- 
rowful, and !xow touching are the incident-: of 
life." 







■17 riT 1? \ anxr I corner bromfield 

r . U-JjJ!iAOUiN , j AND TREMONT STS. 



BOSTON, SATURDAY, JULY 24, 1852. 



©2 PER VOLiniE. 1 -17- 
10 Cts. single, f V OL. 



III. No. 4.— Whole No. 56. 



HENRY CLAY. 

"We are gratified to 
present to our readers 
tlie accompanying por- 
trait of one of America's 
favorite sons, whose re- 
cent death, at a ripe old 
age, has sent a thrill of 
sorrowful feeling over 
our land. Henry Clay 
was born April 12, 1777, 
in Hanover county, Vir- 
ginia. His father was a 
Baptist clergyman, of 
small means, who died 
when his son was only 
five years of age. He 
was one of a large fami- 
ly of children, who were 
left under the care of 
their mother — a firm- 
minded and truly excel- 
lent woman. Henry's 
early advantages con- 
sisted in the privilege 
of attending a common 
country Virginia school ; 
and such were the cir- 
cumstances of the wid- 
ow, that thus early, he 
was obliged to contri- 
bute to the support of 
the family. His work 
was generally on the 
farm . At fourteen years 
of age he was placed in 
a small retail shop in 
Eichraond, Va. The 
next year lie entered the 
office of Mr. Tinsley, 
clerk of the high com't 
of chancery, where 
among other valuable ac- 
quaintances, he attracted 
the notice and acquired 
the friendship of the dis- 
tinguished and beloved 
Chancellor Wythe — one 
of the venerated signers 
of the declaration of in- 
dependence. With him 
the poor orphan found 
a patron and a home. 
Under the direction of 
his great benefactor, and 
for the purpose of study- 
ing his profession, he en- 
tered tlic law ofiice of 
Robert Brooke, attorney 
general of the State. In 
1797 he moved to Lex- 
ington, Ky., where, be- 
fore he commenced the 
practice of the law, he 
devoted some months 
to severe study. Such 
were the youthful trials 
of this great man. The 
foundation of liis long, 
eminent, patriotic and 
glorious career was thus, 
not family, nor wealth, 
nor titles, but talents, in- 
dustry, integrity, and 
worth. Our space will 
not permit a like detail 
of a progress alike hon- 
orable to a people who 
saw and appreciated liis 
value as a man, and to 
the patriot who devoted 
himself zealously to the 
public service. This 
commenced in 1797, 
when he toot part in the 




PORTRAIT OF HENRY CLAY. 



debates relating to the 
call of a convention to 
form a constitution for 
Kentucky, and in 1798, 
when he zealously en- 
tered the field against 
the celebrated alien and 
sedition laws. As soon 
as he was eligible, he 
was elected to the Legis- 
lature of Kentucky. He 
was a leading member 
until 1806, when he was 
?ent to the Senate of the 
United States, to fill the 
place occasioned by the 
resignation of General 
Adir. This, however, 
was only a fraction of a 
term ; and at the close 
of the session, Mr. Clay 
was again chosen to a 
seat in tlie Legislature. 
He was speaker several 
years. In 1809, he was 
a second time elected to 
the United States Senate 
and to fill a fractional 
part of a term. This 
expired in 1811, when 
he was elected a member 
of the House of Repre- 
sentatives. On the first 
ballot he was elected 
speaker, which office he 
filled with distinguished 
ability. It is no more 
than justice to remark, 
that thus far Mr. Clay 
had proved himself 
equal, and more than 
equal, to every place 
wliich he had been call- 
ed upon to fill, says the 
Boston Post. Indeed, 
he was a member of the 
republican party, and so 
signal had been his elo- 
quence, his patriotism, 
his influence and liis effi- 
ciency, as to have had 
attracted the eyes of the 
nation. He nobly sus- 
tained the administra- 
tion of Mr. Madison and 
the war of 1812. After 
the conclusion of the 
treaty of Ghent, Mr. 
Clay, with Mr. Adams 
and Mr. Gallatin, went 
to London, where a com- 
mercial convention be- 
tween this country and 
Great Britain was con- 
cluded. Mr. Clay was 
again elected to the 
House of Representa- 
tives in 1815, and again 
made speaker. Subse- 
quently, after t\vo years 
absence from Congress, 
he was re-elected in 1 823, 
and again made the 
speaker, which place ho 
filled until 1825, when 
he was appointed secre- 
tary of State by John 
Quincy Adams. Mr. 
Clay Avas speaker of the 
House from 1811 to 
1825, with the exception 
of two years, dm'ing 
which time he voluntari- 
ly retired from congress. 
\Sp-t^ pnqf fi4,] 



50 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



A ©TSHJAsr iPAiLiis ©If isnEiii'B'AiE'^ i^'^;;^S3''E"igiiiiio 

Entcrad according to Act of Congress, in tlic year 1852, l)y F. Gleason, in tlio Clerk's Office of the 
District Court of Massachusetts. 



[written liXI'ItEBSLY FOR GLEASOn's I'ICTORIAL.] 



THE 



imV'B SECiET: 



OR, — • 



THE FORTUNES OF A SOLDIER. 



BY LIEUTENANT MUKKAY. 



[CONTI 

CHAPTER VI— [continued.] 
His temples burned still with the angry flush 
that the insult of his superior officer had produced 
there, and throwing liimsclf into a chair, he re- 
called the whole scene at the theatre, from his 
answering Isabella's friendly signal, until the 
time when General Harero passed him at the 
entrance, and for the last time reproved him. 

He weighed the cause of these repeated attacks 
upon him by his superior, and could at once di- 
vine the cause of tlicm. That was obvious to 
his mind at the first glance. He could not but 
perceive the strong preference that General Ha- 
rero evinced for Isabella Gonzales, nor could he 
disguise the fact to his own heart that she cared 
not a farthing for him. It required but a vei-y 
simple capacity to understand this ; any party, 
not interested in the general's favor, could easily 
discern it. But the general counted upon his 
high rank, and also upon the fact tiiat his family 
was a good one, though his purse was not very 
long. 

Lorenzo Bezan remembered not alone the an- 
noyance of that evening. He had not yet for- 
gotten the insult from the general in the Paseo, 
and coupling that with other events, he saw very 
well that his commanding officer was decidedly 
jealous of him. He saw, too, that there was not 
any chance of matters growing any better, but 
that on the contrary they must continue to grow 
worse and worse, since he had determined, come 
what might, he should pursue his love with the 
fair lady Isabella. 

Could he bear to be insulted thus at every 
turn by such a man as General Harero ? No ! 
He felt himself, in courage, intellectual endow- 
ments, birth, ay, everything but the rank of a 
soldier, to be moi'c than his equal. His heart 
beat quickly when he recollected that the latter 
taunt and threat had been given in the presence 
of Don Gonzales and his daughter. The malig- 
nity, the unfairness of this attack upon him at 
this time, was shameful, and deserved to be pun- 
ished. Brooding upon these things alone and 
at a late hour of the night, he at last wrought 
himself up to such a point, perhaps in some de- 
gree aggravated by his late wounds, which were 
hardly yet healed, that he determined he would 
challenge General Harero to martial and mortal 
conflict. 

True this was preposterous in one of his rank, 
as contending against another so vastly his supe- 
rior in position and influence ; but his feelings 
had begun to assume an uncontrollable charac- 
ter; he could not bear to think that he had been 
thus insulted before Isabella Gonzales. It seem- 
ed to him that she would think less of liim if he 
did not resent and punisli such an insult. In the 
heat of his resentment, therefore, he sat down 
and wrote to his superior as follows : 

" General Harero : Sir — Having received, 
at different periods and under peculiar circum- 
stances, insults from you that neither become me 
as a gentleman tamely to submit to, nor you 
as a soldier to give, I do hereby demand satis- 
faction. It would be worse than folly in rac to 
pretend that I do not undei-stand the incentive 
that goveiTis you — 'the actuating motive that has 
led to these attacks upon me. In my duty as an 
officer I have never failed in the least ; this you 
know veiT^ well, and have even allowed before 
now, to my vci"y face. Your attacks upon me 
are, therefore, plainly traceable to a spirit of 
jealousy as to my better success with the Senorita 



NUED.] 

Gonzales than yourself. Unless I greatly mis- 
take, the lady herself has discovered tliis spirit 
within your breast. 

"Now, sir, the object of this note is to demand 
of you to lay aside the station you hold, and to 
forget our relative ranks as officers in the Span- 
ish army, and to meet me on the platform of our 
individual characters as gentlemen, and render 
me that satisfaction for the insult which you have 
placed upon me, which I have a right to demand. 
A line from you and a friend can easily settle 
this business. Lorenzo Bezan." 

Tliis note was carefully sealed and addressed, 
and so despatched as to i-each its destination 
early on the follow^ing morning. It was a most 
unfortunate epistle for Captain Bezan, and could 
the young officer have calmly considered the 
subject, he would never have been so impnident 
as to send it to liis superior. So long as he bore 
the petty annoyances of General Harero without 
murmuring he was strong, but the step he had 
now taken greatly weakened his cause and posi- 
tion. Perhaps he partly realized this as he sent 
the note away on the subsequent morning ; but 
he felt too much pride to relent, and so only 
braced himself to meet the result. 

The note gave General Harero wiiat he w^ant- 
ed, and placed Captain Bezan completely at his 
mercy. It gave him the opportunity to do that 
which he most desired, viz., to arrest and im- 
prison tlie young officer. Consulting with the 
governor general, merely by way of strengthen- 
ing himself, he took his opinion upon the subject 
before he made any open movement in the prem- 
ises. This ^yas a wary step, and sen-ed in some 
degree to rob the case of any appearance of pei*- 
sonality that it might otherwise have worn to 
Tacon's eye. 

The result of the matter was, that before ten 
o'clock that morning the note conveying the 
challenge was answered by an aid-de-camp and 
a file of soldiers, who arrested Captain Bezan for 
insubordination, and quietly conducted him to 
the damp underground cells of the military pris- 
on, where he was left to consider the new posi- 
tion in which he found himself, solitary and 
alone, with a straw bed, and no convenience or 
comfort about him. 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE PRISONER. 

To know and fully realize the bitter severity 
exercised in the Spanish prisons, both at Madrid 
and in Havana, one must have witnessed it. 
Cold, dark and dreary cells, fit only to act as 
supports to the upper and better lighted portions 
of the dismal structure, are filled by those per- 
sons who have incurred in any way the displeas- 
ure of the military board of commission. Here, 
in one of the dampest and most dreary cells, 
immured with lizards, tarantulas, and other vile 
and unwholesome reptiles, Captain Bezan, but 
so very recently risen from a sick bed, and yet 
smarting under his wounds, found himself. He 
could now easily see the great mistake he had 
made in thus addressing General Ilarero as he 
had done, and also, as he knew very well the 
rigor of the service to which he was attached, 
when he considered for a moment, he had not 
the least possible doubt that his sentence would 
be death. 

As a soldier he feared not death ; his profession 
and experience, which had already made him 



familiar with the fell destroyer in cvei-y jjossiblc 
form and sliapc, had taught him a fearlessness 
in this matter; l)ut to leave the air that Isabella 
Gonzales l>reathcd, to be tlms torn away from 
the briglit hopes that she had given rise to in his 
breast, was indeed agony of soul to him now. 
In tlie horizon of his love, for the first time since 
his heart had known the passion, the sun had 
risen, and the genial rays of hope, like young 
spring, liad commenced to warm and vivify his 
soul. Until within a very short time she whom 
he loved was to him as some distant star, tliat 
might be worsliippcd in silence, but not ap- 
proached ; but now, by a series of circumstances 
that looked like providential intei-fercnce in his 
bcluilf, immense bairiei's had been removed. 
Tliinking over tliese matters, he doubly realized 
the misstep he had taken, and the heart of the 
lone prisoner was sad in tlic depths of his dreary 
dungeon. 

Many days passed on, and Lorenzo Bezan 
counted each hour as one less that he sliould 
have to live upon the earth. At first all inter- 
course was strictly denied him with any person 
outside the prison walls, but one aftenioon he was 
delighted as the doorof his cell was thrown open, 
and in the next moment Ruez sprang into his 
anns, 

"My dear, dear friend!" said the boy, with 
big tears starting from his eyes, and his voice 
trembling with mingled emotions of pleasure and 
of grief. 

"Why, Ruez," said the prisoner, no less de- 
lighted than was the boy, " how was it possible 
for you to gain admittance to me ? You are the 
first person I have seen, except the turnkey, in 
my prison." 

" Everybody refused me ; General Harero re- 
fused father, who desired that I might come and 
see if he could not in some way serve you. At 
last I went to Tacon himself. 0, I do love that 
man! Well, I told him General Harero would 
not admit me, and when I told him all — " 
"All of what, Ruez^" 

" Wliy, about you and me, and sister and fa- 
ther. He said, * Boy, you are worthy of confi- 
dence and love ; here, take this, it will pass you 
to the prison, and to Captain Bezan's cell ;' and 
he wrote me this on a card, and said I could 
come and see you by presenting it to the guard, 
when I pleased." 

" Tacon is just, always just," said Lorenzo 
Bezan, " and you, Ruez, are a dear and true 
friend." As the soldier said this, he turned to 
dash away a tear — confinement and late sickness 
had rendered him still weak. 
" Captain '?" 
" Master Ruez." 
" I hate General Harero." 
" Why so V 

" Because sister says it is by his influence that 
you are here." 

" Did Isabella say that V 
"Yes." 

" Well, tell me of your father and sister, Ruez. 
You know I am a hermit here." 

Lorenzo Bezan had already been in prison for 
more than ten days, when Ruez thus visited him, 
and the boy had much to tell him : how General 
Harero had called repeatedly at the house, and 
Isabella had totally refused to see him ; and how 
his father had n-ied to reason with General Ha- 
rero about Captain Bezan, and how the general 
had declared that nothing but blood could wash 
out the stain of insubordination. 

AVith the pass that the goveraor-general had 
given him, Ruez Gonzales came often to visit 
the imprisoned soldier, but as the day appointed 
for the trial drew near, Ruez grew more and 
more sad and thoughtful at each visit, for, boy 
though he was, he felt certain of Lorenzo Bezan's 
fate. He was not himself unfamiliar with mili- 
tary examinations, for he was bora and brought 
up within earshot of the spot where tlicse scenes 
were so often enacted by order of the military 
commission, and he trembled for his dearly loved 
friend. 

At length the trial came ; trial ! we might 
with more propriety call it a farce, such being 
the actual character of an examination befoi'e 
the military commission of Havana, where but 
one side is heard, and condemnation is sure to 
follow, as was the case so lately with one of our 
own countrymen (Mr. Thrasher), and before him 
the murder by tliis same tribunal of fifty Ameri- 
cans in cold blood ! Trial, indeed ! Spanish 
courts do not try people ; they condemn them to 
suifer — that is their business. 

But let us confine ourselves to our own case ; 
and suffice it to say, that Captain Bezan wai 



found guilty, and at once condemned to die. 
IliH offence was rank insubordination, or mutiny, 
as it was designated in the charge ; but in con- 
sideration of former services, and his undoubted 
gallantry and bravery, the sentence read to the 
effect, as a matter of exti-aordinary leniency to 
him, that it should be pennitted for him to choose 
the mode of liis own death — tliat is, between the 
garote and being sliot ]>y his comrades. 

" Let me die like a soldier," replied the young 
officer, as tlie question was thus put to liim, be- 
fore the open court, as to the mode of dcatli 
which he chose. 

" You are condemned, then, Lorenzo Bezan," 
said the advocate of tlie court, " to be shot by 
the first file of your own company, upon the exe- 
cution field." 

This sentence was received with a murmur of 
disapprobation from tlie few spectators in the 
court, for the condemned was one of the most 
beloved men in the sei-vicc. But the young offi- 
cer bowed his head calmly to the sentence, though 
a close observer miglit liave seen a slight quiver 
of his handsome lips, as he struggled for an in- 
stant witli a single inward thought. What that 
thought was, the reader can easily guess, — it was 
the last link that bound him to happiness. 

Lorenzo Bezan had no fear of death, and per- 
haps estimated his life quite as lightly as any 
other person who made a soldier's calling his 
profession ; but since his licart had known the 
tender promptings of love, life had discovered 
new chai-ms for him ; he hvcd and breathed in a 
new atmosphere. Before he had received the 
kind considerations of the peerless daughter of 
Don Gonzales, he could have parted the thread 
of his existence with little regret. But now, 
alas ! it was veiy different; life was most sweet 
to him, because it was so fully imbued with love 
and hope in the future. 

Wild as the idea might have seemed to any 
one else, the young officer had promised his own 
heart, tliat with ordinary success, and provided 
no extraordinary difficulty should present itself 
in his path, to win the heart and love of the 
proud and beautiful Isabella Gonzales. He had 
made her chai-acter and disposition his constant 
study, was more familiar, perhaps, with her 
strong and her weak points than was she herself, 
and believed that he knew how best to approach 
her before whom so many, vastly higher than 
himself, had knelt in vain, and truth to say, for- 
tune seemed to have seconded his hopes. 

It was the death of all these hopes, the dashing 
to earth of the fairy future he had dreamed of, 
that caused his proud lip to tremble for a mo- 
ment. It was no fear of bodily ill. 

General Harero had accompUshed his object, 
and had triumiihed over the young officer, whose 
impetuosity had placed him within liis power. 
Tlie sentence of death cancelled his animosity to 
Lorenzo Bezan, and he now thought that a 
prominent cause of disagreement and want of 
success between the Senorita Isabella Gonzales 
and himself was removed. Thus reasoning upon 
the subject, and thus influenced, he called at the 
house of Don Gonzales on the evening following 
that of Captain Bezan's sentence, expecting to 
be greeted with the usual courtesy that had been 
extended to him. Ruez was the first one whom 
he met of the household, on being ushered to the 
drawing-room by a slave. 

" Ah ! Master Ruez, how do you do 1" said the 
general, pleasantly. 

" Not well at all !" replied the boy, sharply, 
and with undisguised disUke. 

" I'm sorry to learn that. I trust nothing se- 
rious has affected you." 

" But there has, though," said the boy, with 
spirit; " it is the rascality of human nature ;" at 
the same moment he turned his back coldly on 
the general and left the room. 

" AVell, that's most extraordinary," mused the 
general, to himself; " the boy meant to hit me, 
beyond a doubt." 

"Ah, Don Gonzales," he said to the father, who 
entered the room a moment after, " glad to see 
you ; have had some unpleasant business on my 
hands that has kept me away, you see." 

" Yes, very unpleasant," said the old gentle- 
man, briefly and coldly. 

" Well, it's all settled now, Don Gonzales, 
and I trust we shall be as ^"ood friends as ever." 
Receiving no reply whatever to this remark, 
and being left to himself. General Harero looked 
after Don Gonzales, who had retired to a 
balcou}' in another purt of the room, for a 
moment, and then summoning a slave, scut his 
cai'd to Senorita Isabella, and received as an 
answer that she was engaged. Repulsed in every 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



51 



quarter, he found himself most awkwardly situ- 
ated, and thought it about time to beat a retreat. 

As General Harero rose and took his leave in 
the niorit formal manner, he saw that his path- 
way towards the Senorita Isabella's graces was 
by no means one of sunshine alone, but at that 
moment it presented to his view a most cloudy 
horizon. The unfortunate connection of himself 
witli tlie sentence of Captain Bezan, now as- 
sumed its true bearing in liis eye. Before, he 
had only thought of revenge, and the object also 
of getting rid of his rival. Now he fully realized 
that it had placed him in a most unpleasant situ- 
ation, as it regarded the lady herself. Indeed 
he felt that had not the matter gone so far, he 
would gladly have compromised the affair by a 
public reprimand to the young officer, such as 
should sufficiently disgrace him publicly to satisfy 
the general's pride. Butitwastoo late to regret 
now, too late for him to turn back — the young 
soldier must die ! 

In the meantime Lorenzo Bezan was remanded 
to his dismal prison and cell, and was told to 
prepare for the death that would soon await 
him. One week only was allowed him to ar- 
range such matters as he desired, and then lie 
was informed that he would be shot by Iiis com- 
rades in the execution field, at the rear of the 
city barracks. It was a sad and melancholy fate 
for so young and brave an otficer ; but the law 
was imperative, and there was no reprieve for 
him. 

The cold and distant reception that General 
Harero had received at Don Gonzales's house 
since the sentence had been publicly pronounced 
against Captain Lorenzo Bezan, had afforded 
unmistakable evidence to him that if his victim 
perished on account of the charge he had brought 
against him, his welcome with Isabella and her 
father was at an end. But what was to be done ? 
As we have said, he had gone too far to retrace 
his steps in the matter. Now if it were but pos- 
sible to get out of the affair in some way, he said 
to himself, he would give half his foitune. Puz- 
zling over this matter, the disappointed general 
paced back and forth in his room until past mid- 
night, and at last having tired himself completely, 
hoth mentally and physically, he carelessly threw 
off his clothes, and summoning his orderly, gave 
some imimportant order, and retu-ed for the 
night. 

More than half of the time allotted to the pris- 
oner for preparation in closing up his connection 
with life, had already transpired since his sen- 
tence had been pronounced, and he had now but 
three days left him to live. Ruez Gonzales, im- 
proving the governor-general's pass, had visited 
the young officer daily, bringing with him such 
luxuries and necessities to the condemned as were 
not prohibited by the rules of the prison, and 
which were most grateful to him. More so, 
because, though this was never intimated to him, 
or, indeed, appeared absolutely obvious, he 
thought that oftentimes Isabella had selected 
these gifts, if indeed she had not prepared them 
with her o^vn hands. A certain delicacy of feel- 
ing prevented him from saying as much to her 
brother, or of even questioning him upon any 
point, however trivial, as to any matter of a pe- 
culiar natm-e concerning Isabella. Sometimes 
he longed to ask the boy about the subject, but 
he could not bring himself to do so ; he felt that 
it would be indelicate and unpleasant to Isabella, 
and therefore he limited himself to careful inqui- 
ries concerning her health and such simi)le mat- 
ters as he might touch upon, without risk of her 
displeasure. 

Lorenzo Bezan took the announcement of liis 
fate calmly. He felt it his duty to pray for 
strength, and he did so, and sought in tlic holy 
silence and confidence of prayer for that abiding 
and inward assurance tKat may carry us through 
the darkness and the valley of death. Ruez, 
poor boy, was almost distracted at the realization 
of the young soldier's fate. Boy though he was, 
he had yet the feelings, in many respects, of 
manhood, and though before Lorenzo Bezan he 
said nothing of his coming fate, and indeed 
struggled to appear cheerful, and to impart a 
pleasant influenee to the prisoner, yet when once 
out of his presence, he would cry for the hour 
together, and Isabella even feared for the child's 
reason, unless some change should take place 
ere long. 

Wlien his mother was taken from him, and 
their home made desolate by the hand of death, 
Euez, in the gentleness and tenderness of his 
heart, had been brought so low by grief, that it 
was almost miraculous that he had survived. 
The influence of that sorrow, as we have before 



obser\'ed, had never left him. His father's assid- 
uous care and kindness, and Isabella's gentle 
and sisterly love for him, had in part healed the 
wound, when now his young and susceptible 
heart was caused thus to bleed anew. He loved 
Lorenzo Bezan with a strange intensity of feel- 
ing. There was an affinity in their natures tliat 
seemed to draw them together, and it was strange 
what strength of consolation and happiness that 
weak and gentle boy imparted to the stern soldier ! 
In his association of late with Kuez, tlie con- 
demned officer felt purified and carried back to 
childhood and liis mother's knee ; the long vista 
of eventful years was blotted out from his heart, 
the stem battles he had fought in, the blood he 
had seen flow like water, his own deep scars and 
many wounds, the pride and ambition of his 
military career, all were forgotten, and by Ruez's 
side he was perhaps more of a child at heart than 
the boy himself. How strange are our natures ; 
how susceptible to outward influence ; how at- 
tunable to liarshncss or to plaintive notes ! We 
are but as the ^olian harp, and the winds of 
heaven play upon us what tunes they will ! 

It was midnight in the prison of Havana; 
nought could be heard by the listening ear save 
the steady pace of the sentinels stationed at the 
various angles of the walls and entrances of the 
comtyard that surrounded the gloomy structure. 
It was a calm, ti'opical night, and the moon 
shone so brightly as to light up the grim walls 
and heaiT^ arches of the building almost as bright 
as if it were day. Now and then a sentinel would 
pause, and resting upon his musket, look off 
upon the silvery sea, and perhaps dream of his 
distant Castilian liome, then starting again, he 
would rouse himself, shoulder the weapon, and 
pace his round with measured stride. Lorenzo 
Bezan, the condemned, had knelt, down and of- 
fered up a prayer, silent but sincere, for Heaven's 
protection in the feavful emergency that beset 
him ; he prayed that he might die like a bi'ave 
man, yet with a right feeling and reconciled con- 
science with all mankind. Then throwing him- 
self upon his coarse sti'awbed, that bai-ely served 
to separate him from the damp earthen floor, he 
had fallen asleep — a calm, deep, quiet sleep, so 
silent and childlike as almost to resemble death 
itself. 

He had not slept there for many minutes, be- 
fore there was heard a most curious noise under 
the floor of his prison. At first it did not awaken 
him, but partially doing so, caused him to move 
slightly, and in a half conscious, half dreamy 
state, to suggest some cause for the unusual phe- 
nomenon. It evidently worked upon his brain 
and nervous system, and he dreamed that the 
executioner had come for him, that Ids time for 
life had already expired, and the noise he heard 
was that of the officers and men, come to execute 
the sentence that had been pronouncet-l upon him 
by the military commission. 

By degrees the noise gradually increased, and 
heavy bolts and bars seemed to be removed, and 
a gleam of light to stream across the cell, while 
the tall form of a man, i\Tapped in a military 
cloak, came up through the floor where a stone 
slab gave way to the pressure applied to it from 
below. Having gained a footing, the new comer 
turned the light of a dark lantem in the direction 
of the comer where the prisoner was sleeping. 
The figure approached the sleeping soldier, and 
bending over him, muttered to himself, half 
aloud : 

" Sleeping, by Heaven ! he sleeps as quietly 
as though he was in his camp-bedstead, and not 
even under an-est." 

As the officer thus spoke — for his cloak now 
falling from one shoulder, partially exposed his 
person and discovered his rank — the strong light 
of tlie lantern fell full iq^on the sleeper's face, 
and caused him suddenly to awake, and partially 
rising from the floor, he said : 

"So soon ? has my time already come'? I 
thought that it was not yet. Well, I am ready, 
and trust to die like a soldier !" 

"Awake, Captain Bezan, awake!" said the 
new comer. " I have news for you !" 

" News 1" 

" Yes." 

" What possible news can there be that I can 
feel interested in V 

"Rise, and I will tell you," replied the other, 
while he shaded the lantern with his hand. 

" Speak on, I am listening," replied Lorenzo 
Bezan, rising to his feet. 

" I would speak of your liberty." 

"My liberty? I am condemned to die, and 
do you come to mock me ?" 

"Be patient; the way is open, and you may 
yet escape from death." 



" And what should interest you. General Ha- 
rero, in my fate ? Your purpose is gained ; I 
am removed from your path ; why do you visit 
me thus at this still hour of the night, and in so 
extraordinary a manner by a secret entrance to 
my cell V 

" All this matters notliing. I came not here 
to answer questions. On one condition you are 
free. I have the means of your escape at hand." 

*' Name the condition," said the prisoner, 
though without exhibiting the least interest. 

" There is a vessel which will sail for America 
with the morning tide ; swear if I liberate you 
that you will take passage in her, and never re- 
turn to this island." 

"Never!" said the soldier, firmly. "I will 
never leave those I love so dearly." 

" You refuse these tenns ?" continued the gen- 
eral, in a hoarse tone of voice. 

" I do, most unhesitatingly. Life would be 
nothing to me if robbed of its brightest Iiope." 

" You will not consider this for a moment ? it 
is 3'our only chance." 

" I am resolved," said Lorenzo Bezan; "for 
more than one reason I am determined." 

" Then die for your obstinacy," said General 
Harero, hoarse with rage and disappointment. 

Tlius saying. General Harero descended into 
the secret passage fi*om whence he had just 
emerged, and I'cplacing the stone above his head, 
the prisoner heard the grating of the rusty bolts 
and bars as they were closed after him. They 
grated, too, most harshly upon his heart, as well 
as upon their own hinges, for they seemed to 
say, "thus perishes your last hope of reprieve — 
yom- last possibility of escape from the fate that 
awaits you." 

" No matter," said he, to himself, at last, " life 
would be of little value to me now if deprived of 
the presence of Isabella, and that dear boy, Ruez, 
and therefore I decided none too quickly as I 
did. Besides, in honor, I could hardly accept 
my life at his hands on any terms — he whom I 
have to thank for all my misfortunes. No, no; 
let them do their worst, I know my fate is sealed ; 
but I fear it not." 

With this reflection and similar thoughts upon 
his mind, he once more tlirew himself upon the 
hard damp floor, and after thinking long and 
tenderly of Isabella Gonzales and her brother, 
he once more dropped to sleep, but not until the 
moniing gun had relieved the sentinels, and the 
di'um had beat the reveille. 



CHAPTER VIU. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The apartment in Don Gonzales's house ap- 
propriated as Ruez's sleeping room, led out of 
the main reception hall, and adjomed that of his 
sister Isabella. Both rooms looked out upon the 
Plato, and over the Gulf Stream and outer por- 
tions of the harbor, where the grim Moro tower 
and its cannon frown over the narrow entrance 
of the inner bay. One vessel could hardly 
work its way in sliip shape through the chan- 
nel, but a thousand might lay safely at anchor 
inside this i-emarkably land-locked harbor. At 
the moment when we would introduce the reader 
to the house of the rich old Don Gonzales, Isa- 
bella had throAvn herself carelessly upon a couch 
in her room, and half sighing, half dreaming 
while awake, was gazing out upon the waters 
that make up from the Caribbean Sea, at the 
southward, and now and then following with her 
eyes the trading crafts that skimmed the spark- 
ling waters to the north. 

As she gazed thus, she suddenly raised herself 
to a sitting position, as she heard the suppressed 
and most grievous sobs of some one near the 
room where she was, and rising, she approached 
the window to discover the cause of this singular 
sound. The noise that had excited her curiosity 
came from the next chamber, evidently, and that 
was her brother's. Stealing softly round to the 
entrance of his chamber, she went quietly in and 
surprised Ruez, as he lay grieving upon a couch, 
with eyes iilled with tears. 

" Why, Ruez, what does this mean ? Art sick, 
brother, that you are so depressed V asked the 
beautiful girl, seating herself do^vn by his side. 

" Ay, sister, sick at heart," said the boy, with 
a deep drawn sigh. 

"And why, Ruez?" she continued, gently 
parting the hair from his forehead. 

" How can you ask such a question, sister? 
do you not know already?" he asked, turning 
his deep blue eyes full upon her. 

" Perhaps not, brother," replied Isabella, strug- 
gling to suppress a sigh, while she turned her 
face away from her brother's searching glance. 



" Do you not know, sister, that to-morrow 
Captain Bezan is sentenced to die?" 

" True," said Isabella Gonzales, witli an in- 
voluntary shudder. " I do know it, Ruez " 

"And further, sister," continued the boy, 
sagely, " do you not know that we have been the 
indirect cause of this fearful sacrifice (" 

"I do not see that, brother," said Isabella, 
quickly, as she turned her beautiful face fully 
upon her brother, inquiringly. 

Ruez Gonzales looked like one actuated by 
some extraordinary inspiration; liis eyes were 
wonderfully bright, Ins expression that of years 
beyond his actual age, and his beautiful sister, 
while she gazed thus upon him at that moment, 
felt the keen and searching glance that he be- 
stowed upon her. She felt like one in the pres- 
ence of a superior mind ; she could not realize 
her own sensations. The hoy seemed to read 
her very soul, as she stood thus before him. It 
was more than a minute before he spoke, and 
seemed to break the spell ; but at last — and it 
seemed an age to Isabella Gonzales — he did so, 
and said : 

"Sister?" 

"Well, Ruez?" 

" Captain Bezan loves yon." 

"Perhaps so." 

" I say he does love you." 

" It is possiide." 

" I say he lores >/ou/' continued the boy, almost 
steraly. 

" Well, brother, what of that ?" she asked, 
with assumed indifference. 

" It is that, sister, which has led General Ha- 
rero to persecute him as he has done, and it 13 
that which has led him like a noble spirit to tuni 
to bay." 

A moment's pause ensued. 

"Xs it not so, sister ?" he asked, still looking 
keenly at her. " Have you not yourself intima- 
ted tJiat Captain Bezan was to suffer owing to 
his interest and services for us ?" 

"You do indeed speak truly, brother," said 
the lovely girl, breathing more quickly, and half 
amazed at Ruez's penetration and prophetic 
manner of speecJi. 

"Alas!" said the boy, once more relapsing 
into his former mood, " that he might be saved !" 

" Has our father seen the governor-general, 
Ruez ]" asked his sister, earnestly. 

" Yes." 

" And to no effect V 

" None. Tacon, you know, is most strict in 
his administration of justice, and lie says that if 
he were to pardon one such breach of military 
discipline as Captain Bezan has been guilty of, 
the whole army would at once be impregnated 
with insubordination." 

" Would that I could see Captain Bezan, if 
only for one single moment," murmured Isabella 
Gonzales, half aloud, yet only to herself. 

" Do you mean so, sister ?" asked Ruez, catch- 
ing quickly at his sister's words, and with an 
undisguised expression of delight written upon 
his handsome countenance. 

" Yes, no, brother, that is to say, if I could 
see him with propriety, you know, Ruez ; that is 
what I meant to say." 

" Nothing easier, than for you to do so, if you 
desire it," said the boy. 

" Do you think so, Ruez ?" said his sister, 
somewhat eagerly. 

" Certainly, Isabella, my pass will serve for 
you ^^Hth a trifling disguise." 

" But our difference in size ; besides, you 
know that my voice — " 

" Will not be noticed by those stiff sentries, or 
the turnkey," interrupted the boy. " They do 
not know me at all, and would not suspect you." 

" Ah ! but I can see many impediments in the 
way of one of my sex," added Isabella Gonzales, 
with a deep sigh. 

Captain Lorenzo Bezan awoke on tlie day 
previous to that appomtedfor his execution, with 
a cheerful spirit. He found no guilt in his heart, 
he felt that he had committed no crime, that his 
soul was free and untrammelled. His coarse 
breakfast of rude cassava root and water was 
brought to him at a late hour, and having par- 
taken of sufficient of this miserable food to pre- 
vent the gnawings of hunger, lie now sat musuig 
over his past life, and thinking seriously of that 
morrow which was to end his career upon eartli 
forever. A strange reverie for a man to be en- 
gaged in — a most critical period — the winding 
up of his earthly career. 

[to ee continoed.] 

*-^»^ » 

* Desire not to live long, but to live ■well ; 
Uow long Vie live, not years but actloas tell. 

Walh/».t. 



52 



GLEASON'S PTCTOPJAL DUAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



AN INTERESTING ILLUSTRATED SERIES OF VARIOUS SPECIMENS OF FISHES. 



Our readers will 
views given on this 
piigo, of' various il- 
tions of some of the 
has over been a fa- 
at this season of tho 
hour is spent in fisii- 
sports of the line 
tible charm, luid they 
hour, not only to 
man, whoso daily 
liim to adopt and 
occupation, hut to 
whiles away the lazy 
the line and net. 
in the present day, 
nounco any culo<>y 
fishing. Even those 
men admit that its 
cent and healthy; 
favor in which they 
the earliest ages to 
slight testimony in 




BANK RUNNER. 



slight justification of any attempt to regulate and render henefi 
cial the pursuit of them. It is certain that those who have once 
enjoyed the pleasures of fishing require no recommendation to 
continue them ; the relish for them, like the relish for anything 
that is healthy and natural, increases with fruition, and "grows 
with what it feeds on." All recreations, when properly conduct- 
ed, resemble those intellectual enjoyments, wlierein pleasure, in- 
deed, seems the means, but instruction as well as amusement 
may be considered the end. And though, in the bar- 
barism of tlie darker ages, man may have hunted, and 
shot, and fished with as little care for improvement, and 
as small a chance of increase of knowledge, as if he had 
been a mere beast or bird of prey, modern times have 
produced a great change in this respect. Philosophy 
now gains stores of interesting facts from the laborious 
pleasures of the intelligent sportsman ; our acquaintance 
with natural Iiistory is improved ; and the most exciting 
of amusements is made one of the best means of in- 
struction. It is the characteristic of this age that noth- 
ing can be done without receiving aid from science, and 
nothing tliat receives such aid fails to impart added 
stores of information to it in return. We have put off 
the belief that men can do anything sufficiently well by 
mere force of habit, and we insist on knowing why they 
do a thing, and what are the various, and which are the 
best, modes of doing it. The sportsman by rote is but 
half a sportsman ; his range of pleasure is confined by 
the want of knowledge, and even the things he sees can 
hardly be said to be observed by liim, or to afford him 
any pleasure but that derived from having by his skill 
obtained possession of them. But he who has improved 
his opportunities of knowledge has a double enjoyment ; 
he has pleasant thoughts for his companions, his sports are better 
conducted and more successful ; and while he bags his game with 
tlie satisfaction of a victor, he marks and remembers its peculiar- 
ities wath the eye of a naturalist. Who has not felt the enthusi- 
astic bursts of feeling of old Izaac Walton, on reading his descrip- 
tion of the prey he rook, the place of its capture, and even of the 
means employed to tike it "^ And who his not felt how the po- 
etic old angler must ha\e ic\Llkd m enjoyment, wheie a less cul- 



he gratified with tlie sis and classification of Prof. Agassi/, of the finny tribes has added 
and the sucrciMliiig to them many an item of interest. We cannot, of course, 
liistratcd ri'ificr.i'nta- say anything new, but only reiterate the observations of those 
iinnytrihcs. Angling who have made them tlieir study. Among the numerous varic- 
vorite pastime, and ties of fishes which jicople our seas and rivers, we select tho fol- 
^ear, many a jovial lowing as illustrations, appending some account descriptive of 
lug excursions. The their habits, etc. Wonderful as it may appear to seo creatures 
furnish au inexhau.s- existing in a medium so dense that men, beasts and birds must in- 
bi-guilc many an evitably perish in it, yet experience proves that, besides those 
the Iiardy fisher- species which we are in the daily habit of seeing, the very depths 
sustenance compels of the immense ocean contain myriads of animated beings, to 
follow tliis mode of whose very form we are almost strangers, and of whose disposi- 
tlic amateur who tions and manners we arc still more ignorant. It is probable, in- 
rimcin sporting with deed, that the fathomless recesses of the deep contain many kinds 
It would be useless, of fish that are never seen by man. In their construction, modes 
to affect to pro- of life, and general design, the watery tribes arc perhaps still 
upon the sport of more astonisiiing than the inhabitants of either the land or the 
who are not sports- air. Tlie structure offish, and their adaptation to the element in 
pleasures are inno- which they arc to live, are eminent proofs of divine wisdom, 
and the universal Most of them have the same external form, sharp at each end, 
have been held, from and s-velling in the middle, by which configuration tliey are en- 
thc present, is no abled to traverse their native element with greater case and swift- 
tbeir behalf, nor ness. From their shape, men originally look the idea of those 
vessels which are intended to sail with the greatest speed ; but the 
progress of the swiftest sailing ship, with "the advantage of a fa- 
vorable wind, is far inferior to that of fisli. Ten or twelve miles 
an hour is no small degree of rapidity in the sailing of a ship; 
yet any of the larger species of fish would soon overtake her, play 
round her as if slie did not move, and even advance considerably 
before her. The senses of fishes are remarkably imperfect; and, 
indeed, that of siglit is almost the only 6ne which, in general, 




DIPPING FOR TROUT AND GRAYLING. 

tivated sportsman would barely have attained to a sense of satis- 
faction 1 Knowledge, therefore, is sought by the sportsman, not 
only as a means of sporting well, but of sporting pleasurably. 
But the more he increases his amount of knowledge, the more he 
desires to increase it; and thus bis powers of inquiry and obser- 
vation are continually exercised, and by their exercise errors in 
natural history are coxTCcted, and experience is acquired by him 
for his own benefit, and for the use of other men. To facilitate 



Ar 




THE PIKE. 

the accomplishment of purposes like these, books of all sorts have 
been, from time to time, pul)lisbed on the subject of sports, and 
these have for a short period satisfied curiosity, but have done so 
only to heighten it afterwards. The natural Iiistory of fishes has 
been the subject of learned investigation and research of late 
years to a greater extent than ever beijore; and the critical analy- 



FLIES USED IN FISHING. 

they may be truly said to possess. But this is, in some degree, 
compensated by their astonishing longevity, several species being 
known to live more than a hundred years. The Pike, represented 
below, and the first in our series of illustrations, is common 
in most of the lakes of Europe, but the largest are those taken in 
Lapland, which, according to Schseffer, are sometimes eight feet 
long. They are taken there in great abundance, dried and ex- 
ported for sale. According to the common saying, these fish were 
introduced into England in the x-eign of Henry the Eighth, in 
1537. They were so rare, that a pike was sold for double the 
price of a house lamb, in February, and a pickerel for more than 
a fat capon. All writers who treat of this species bring instances 
of its vast voraciousness. We have known one that was choked 
by attempting to swallow one of its own species that proved too 
large a morsel. Yet its jaws are very loosely connected ; and 
have on each side an additional bone like the jaw of a viper ; 
which renders them capable of great distention when it swallows 
its pi-ey. It does not confine itself to feed on fish and frogs; it 
wilt devour the water-rat, and drawdown the young ducks as 
they are swimming about. At the Marquis of Stafford's canal at 
Trentham, England, a pike seized the head of a swan, as she was 
feeding under water, and gorged so much of it as killed them 
both. The servants perceiving the swan with its head under wa- 
ter for a longer time than usual, took the boat, and found both 
swan and pike dead. But there are instances of its fierceness 
still more surprising, and which, indeed, border a little on the 
maiwellous. Gesner relates, that a famished pike in the Rhone 
seized on the lips of a mule, that was brought to water, and that 
the beast drew the fish out before it could disengage itself: that 
people have been bit by these voracious creatures while they were 
washing their legs ; and that they will even contend with the 
otter for its prey, and endeavor to force it out of its mouth. The 
Carp, also illustrated on this page above, is one of the naturalized 
fish in England, having been introduced there by Leonard Mas- 
schal, about the year 1514. Carp are very long lived. Gesner 
brings an instance of one that was a hundred years old. They 
also grow to a very great size. These fish are extremely cunning, 
and on that account are by some styled the River Fox. They 
will sometimes leap over the nets, and escape that way ; at others, 
will immerse themselves so deep in the mud, as to let the net 
pass over them. They 
are also very shy of 
taking a bait ; yet at 
the spawning time they ^ 

are so simple as to suf- ^^i^ 

fer themselves to be 
tickled, and caught by 
anybody that will at- 
tempt it. It is so tena- 
cious of life that it may 
be kept alive for a fort- 
night in wet straw or 
moss. — The Gudgeon 
is generally found in 
gentle streams, and is 
of a small size ; those 
few, however, that are 
caught in the Kcnnet 
and Coin. Rivers in 
England, are three 
times the weight of 
those taken elsewliere. The largest we ever remember to have 
heard of was taken near Uxbridge, England, and weighed half a 
pound. They bite eagerly, and are assembled by raking the bed 
of the river; to this spot they immediately crowd in shoals, ex- 
pecting food from this disturbance. The shape of the body is 
thick and round; the irides tinged with red, the gill covers with 





THE CARP. 



gi-een and silver. The lower jaw is shorter than the upper ; at 
eacli corner of the mouth is a single beard ; the back olive, spot- 
ted with black ; the side line straight ; the sides beneath that sil- 
very; the belly white. The tail is forked; that, as well as the 
dorsal fin, is spotted with black. — The Sea-Trout, or Salmon- 
Trout, migrates like the salmon up several of our rivers, .spawns, 
and returns to the sea. The shape is thicker than tJie common 
trout. The head and back are dusky, with a gloss of blue and 
green, and the sides, as far as the lateral line, are mark- 
ed withlarge irregular spots of black. The flesh when 
boiled, is red, and resembles that of the salmon in taste. 
The Bream, illustrated on the next page, as an item 
of food is not equal to the Carp. It is found in all 
the great lakes, and in rivers which have a gentle cur- 
rent, and a bottom composed of marl, clay and herb- 
age ; and it abides in the deepest parts. It is taken 
mostly under the ice ; and this fishery is so considerable 
that, in some of the lakes belonging to Prussia, there 
have been taken to the value of two hundred pounds at 
a time ; they are also caught in great quantities in Hol- 
stein, Mecklenburg, Livonia and Sweden : in a lake 
near Nordkioiping, there were taken at one time in 
March, 1749, no less than fifty thousand, weighing 
eighteen thousand two hundred pounds. It is extremely 
deep, and thin in proportion to its length. The back 
rises much, and is very sharp at the top. The head and 
mouth are small. The scales are very large ; the sides 
flat and thin. The dorsal fin has eleven rays, the sec- 
ond of which is the longest ; tliat fin, as well as all the 
rest, are of a dusky color; the back of the same hue; 
the sides yellowish. The tail is very large, and of the 
form of a crescent. — The Smelt is so common, and so 
well known, as hardly to need any notice. Its form is very ele- 
gant ; it is of a silvery color, tinged with yellow ; and the skin is 
almost transparent. — Trout fishing affords excellent diversion for 
the angler, and the passion for this pastime is very great. It is a 
matter of surprise that this common fish has escaped the notice 
of all the ancients, except Ausonius. It is also singular, that so 
delicate a species should be neglected, at a time, when the folly of 
the table was at its height ; and that the epicm-es should overlook 




GUDGEON ANGLING. 

a fish that is found in such quantities in the lakes of their neigh- 
borhood, when they ransacked the u:iiiverse for dainties. The 
milts of miirmncE were brought from one place ; the livers of scmH 
from another; and oysters even from so remote a spot as Sand- 
wich ; but there was and is a fashion in the article of good living. 
The Romans seem to have despised the trout, the piper and tlie 
doree; and we believe Mr. Quin himself would have resigned the 
rich paps of a pregnant sow, tlie heels of camels, and the tongues 




SEA TROUT. 

of flamingos, though dressed by Heliogahalus's cooks, for a good 
jowl of salmon with lobster sauce. The general shape of the 
Trout is rather long than broad; in several of the Scotch and 
Irish rivers, they grow so much thicker than in those of England, 
that a fish, from eighteen to twenty-two inches, will often weigli 
from three to five pounds. This is a fish of prey, hiv? u short 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



53 



roundish head, blunt nose, and wide mouth, filled with teeth, not 
only in tlie jaws, but on the palate and tongue ; the scales are 
small, the back ash color, the sides yellow, and, when in season, 
it is sprinkled all over the body and covers of the gills with small 
beautiful red and black spots ; the tail is broad." The colors of 
the Trout, and its spots, vary greatly in different waters, and in 
different seasons ; yet each may be reduced to one species. It 
sometimes attains the weight of four and a half pounds, but is 
usually much smaller. It is much in request for the table. The 




TIIE BREAM. 

large species of trout which inhabit the larger lakes of Maine, 
New Hampshire, and those about the sources of the Susquehannah, 
have not yet been described or properly distinguished, that we 
are aware of; indeed, it is possible that more than one species 
has been confounded under the common ti'out. A gigantic spe- 
cies of trout from Lake Huron, has been described by Doctor 
Mitcliell. It is said to attain the weight of one hundred and 
twenty pounds. The flesh is remarkably fat, rich and savory- 
The specific name amethi/stlnus was applied on account of the 




THE SMELT. 

purplish tinge and hyaline tips of the teeth. We add some ob- 
servations on the trout as an object of pui'suit to the American 
angler. It is particularly abundant in New England, where the 
w^aters and soil, being of a more Alpine character, are highly 
congenial to the nature of this species of fish. They may be di- 
vided into three principal classes, namely, pond trout, river trout 
and sea trout. Of these, however, there arc as many varieties 
and shades of difference as are known and described in England, 
Scotland, and other countries; but, for all the purposes of the 
angler, it is unneccssai-y to enumerate any others than 
those above mentioned. Pond or lake trout vary in 
shape and color. Their size is generally in proportion 
to the extent of the \vater in which they are taken. In 
Moosehead Lake, in Maine, they attain the enormous ^ 
weight of forty or fifty pounds, and, in the lakes of other ^~ 
States, are found of the average size of salmon. This 
large description of trout are seldom taken, except 
through the ice in winter, and consequently afford but -^^ 
little sport to the lover of angling. In the AVinipisseogee _ 
Lake, in New Hampshire, and Sebago Lake, in Maine, 
the average size of the fish is about that of the largest 
mackerel, which it also resembles in shape. The spots 
upon these and other lake trout are seldom red, but 
dark and indistinct, according to their size. The last 
mentioned lake is one of tlie few in which the fish are 
taken by the usual metliod of angling, for which they 
are more esteemed, as affording good sport, tlian for 
their flavor ; and the common impression is, that these 
fish sprung from salmon, but that, having been prevent- 
ed, by obstructions in the river, from entering the sea, 

they have become, by confinement, degenerated in size 
and quality, retaining only the color of the flesh. In 
the interior lakes of New York, and in the great lakes 
of the west, the trout grows to a vast size ; but these 
lake trout, being coarse fish, and taken without skill, in 
the winter only, are held in no estimation by the scientific angler, 
lliver or brook trout are common in the New England States ; 
but, much to the annoyance of the angler, they perceptibly dimin- 
ish in proportion to the increase of mills and manufactories upon 
tlie various streams. The size of this class of trout, and the color 
of the skin and spots, are much alike in all, excepting that some 
are of a more silvery hue than others ; and the color of the flesh 
varies, perhaps, as it has been observed, according to their differ- 
ent food, being sometimes perfectly white, sometimes of a yellow 



tinge, but generally pink. There are also trout in various small 
ponds, both natural and artificial, tliose taken from the latter be- 
ing in all respects similar to the brook or river trout. This is to 
be understood of ponds in the interior, as tlicre are many artificial 
ponds, situated near the sea coast, at the head of inlets' from the 
sea and tide-water, where the fish are very little inferior in size 
and quality to those which arc taken where 
the tide ebbs and flows. Of the three classes 
of trout referred to, there is none so much es- 
teemed as the sea trout, which maybe called — 

migratory, in distinction from tliose which 
have no access to the salt water. In the early 
spring months, they are taken in great abun- 
dance in the various salt rivers, creeks and 
tide-waters upon the shores of New England 
and Long Island, but more particularly in the 
waters of Cape Cod, where the celebrated Wa- 
quoit Bay, with other neighboring waters, lias 
long been the favorite resort of the scientific 
fisherman. As the season advances, these fisii 
repair to fresh water, at which time, as well as 
earlier, they afford great diversion to the 
angler, by whom they are highly prized, not 
merely for their superiority of form, color and 
delicious flavor, but for the voracity with 
which they seize the bait of the artificial fly, 
and their activity upon the hook. In the 
United States, as well as in Great Britain, this 
fish is the great object of the angler's art, the 
perfection of which is the use of the artificial fly. — The Barbel, 
given below, was so coarse as to he overlooked by the ancients till 
the time of Ausonius, and what he says is no panegyric on it ; 
for he lets us know it loves deep waters, and, that when it grows 
old it was not absolutely bad. It frequents the still and deep 
parts of I'ivers, and lives in society, rooting like swine with their 
noses in the soft banks. It is so tame as to suffer itself to be 
taken with the hand ; and people have been knoini to take num- 
bers by diving for them. In summer they move about during 
night in search of food, but towards autumn, and during win- 
ter, confine themselves to the deepest holes. They are the worst 
and coarsest of fresh-water fish, and seldom eaten but by the 
poorer sort of people, who sometimes boil them with a bit of ba- 
con, to give them a relish. The roe is very noxious, affecting 
those who unwarily eat of it with a nausea, vomiting, purging, 
and a slight swelling. It is sometimes found of the length of 
three feet, and eighteen pounds in weight: it is of a long and 
rounded form ; the scales not large. Its head is smooth; Uie 
nostrils placed near the eyes ; the mouth is placed below : on 
each corner is a single beard, and another on each side the nose. 
The dor&al fin is armed with a remarkably strong spine, sharpiv 
serrated, with which it can inflict a very severe wound on the in- 
cautious handler, and even do much damage to the nets. The 
pectoral fins are of a pale brown color ; the ventral and anal tip- 
ped with yellow ; the tail a little bifurcated, and of a deep purple ; 
the side line is straight. The scales are of a pale gold color, 
edged with black ; the belly is white. — The Tench is thick and 
broad in proportion to its length : the scales are very small, and 
covered with slime. The irides are red; there is sometimes, but 
not always, a small beard at each corner of the mouth. The 
color of the back is dusky ; the dorsal and ventral fins of the same 
color; the head, sides, and belly of a greenish cast, most beauti- 
fully mixed with gold, which is in its greatest splendor when the 
fish is in the highest season. The tail is quite even at the end, 
and very broad. — In the Char the head terminates in a blunt 
point, and its body is covered with very minute scales ; the lat- 



them. The largest and most beautiful chars are found in the 
Lake of Winander-Mcre, in Westmoreland, England, where 
there are three species, the red, the gilt, and the case char. 
These kinds are nearly similar in their external appearance ; but 
the time and manner of their spawning are very different. The 
method of taking these fish is with nets, or trammels as they are 




THE TENCH. 

called, which are furnished with bait to allure the fish, and left 
for several days, till they are known to enter them. Potted char 
is a delicacy wliich is in high repute on the continent as well as 
in England. — The Salmon, which was known to the Romans, 
but not to the Greeks, is distinguished from other fish by having 
t^vo dorsal fins, of which the hindermost is fleshy and without 
rays; they have teeth both in the jaws and the tongue, and the 
body is covered with round and minutely striated scales. Gray 
is the color of the back and sides, sometimes spotted with blacli. 






THE BARBEL. 



TROUT FISHING. 

eral line is straight. All the fins except the dorsal are reddish. 
This species is very properly denominated the Alpine Char, by 
Linnaius ; for its constant residence is in the lakes of the high 
and mountainous parts of Europe. A few are found in some of 
the lakes in AVales, and in Loch Inch, in Scotland ; from wliich 
last, it is said to migrate into the Spey to spawn. Seldom, how- 
ever, does this species venture into any running stream ; its prin- 
cipal resort is in the cold lakes of the Lapland Alps, where it is 
fed by the innumerable quantity of gnats that infest those dreary 
regions. Tliis is a fish 
which, as before re- 
marked, is mostly con- 
fined to the lakes of 
the northern part of 
Europe, and as it sel- 
dom migrates much to 
the south, has not been 
much noticed by the 
angler. In our own 
waters it is but rarely 
found, and hence is not 
often noticed. In this 
respect, it is unlike 
many of the finny 
tribes, which are found 
under such different 
circumstances, that 
they afford pleasing 
employment for the 
naturalist in tracing 
their varieties back to 
their origin, and ar- 
ranging in detail a mi- 
nute classification of 



THE CHAR. 

and sometimes plain. The belly is silver}'. It is entirely a north- 
ern fish, being found both at Greenland, Kamtschatka, and in the 
northern parts of North America, but never so fiir south as the 
Mediterranean. Salmon are now scarce in all our rivers south of 
the Merrimack. In the Connecticut tliey were once so abundant 
as to be less esteemed than shad, and the fishermen used to re- 
quire their purchasers to take some salmon with their shad. 
Within the memory of persons living, they were taken in plenty 
even as far up as Vermont. The Indians used to catch a great 
many of them, as they were ascending Bellows Ealls. 
It is supposed that the locks, dams and canals con- 
structed in the river, have driven this valuable fish away. 
About the latter end of the year the Salmon begin to 
press up the rivers, even for hundred of miles, to de- 
posit their spaivn, which lies buried in the sand till 
spring, if not disturbed by the floods, or devoured by 
other fishes. In this peregrination it is not to be stop- 
ped even by cataracts. About March the young ones 
begin to appear, and about the beginning of May the 
river is full of the salmon fry, wliicli are then four or 
five inches long, and gradually proceed to the sea. 
About the middle of June the earliest fry begin to re- 
turn again from the sea, and are then from twelve to 
fourteen inches long. Rapid and stony rivers, where 
the water is free from mud, arc the favorite places of 
most of the salmon tribe, the whole of which is supposed 
to afford wholesome food to mankind. These fish when 
taken out of their natural element vei-y soon die ; to 
preserve their flavor they must be killed as soon as they 
are taken out of the water. The fishermen usually 
pierce them near the tail with a knife, when they soon 
— die with loss of blood. — Recently, the Scotch commissa- 

ries of fisheries have been adopting an ingenious device 
for learning the migrations of the salmon. They have 
marked a large number of fish hatched from the spawn 
dejjosited last year in the Tweed, by placing around them a belt 
or ring of India Rubber, numbered and dated. One of the fish 
was caught, two days after being thus marked, and let go, a hun- 
dred miles from the mouth of the Tweed. All fishennen taking 
such marked fish are desired to take note of the weight, tl^e place 
and date of capture, and various other particulars named in the 
directions. The idea is decidedly a novel and very amusing 
one, and may lead to valuable scientific discovery in regard to 
the habits of the Salmon. 




THE SALMON. 



5t 



GI.EASON'S PICTOllTAL DTlvVWING PJ)OM C01\IP ANION. 



[Written for Oleimon's IMctoriul.] 
A LEAF FROM TIII3 IIEAIIT. 



IIY WIUIAM T. I11I.SEB. 

IIiivo you foi-gottoii, clourcflt, the nlKlit wlion first wp nint? 
Tbo raptuvoH of tliii-t bllHHful hour Htlll hiiuut my memory 

yet; 
The tcnilcr glanro Hhot from tliino oyos ou that auBpluiouB 

eve, 
And all the passions of my soul bcgau their hopes to 

weave. 

Time onward flew, the night wa« spont In joyouRnoHS 

supreme, 
Tlio future promised nauglit hut hope witli wliit-h to gild 

uiy di-eam ; 
■\\'o talked of elinics with grandeur rrowucd, where stately 

palm trees fling 
Their cooling sliadows on the ground',, wliero gayeat smiles 

tlio spring. 

Weeks had elapsed — a vision rose where two sat side by 

side, 
Each with an offering from the heart a beauteous bouquet 

tied ; 
"Wo each cxclianged, and dear to mo is still the boon you 

gave, 
Though long ago you "vo buried mine in cold obliviou's 

grave. 

The name of him have you forgot, the name that once was 

dear. 
The name of him who on thy cheek dropped sympathy's 

chastti tear ; 
lio who would have assuaged each care, and chased each 

grief away, 
And have you, then, forgotten him '! — 0, answer I but with 

nay I 

Ay I myriad ages yet the sum may tread his coui-ae on 
liigh, 

And each resplendent, twinkluig star illume the evening 
sky ; 

But while the i-cahn of memory reigns with reason's scep- 
tre there, 

The tablet of a doting heart shall thy dear image hear. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

THE THREE DOLLAR BILL. 

SKETCH OF AN EVERY DAY TRUTH. 

BEING A LESSON OF EXPERIENCE "WHICH 
THOUSANDS MAY KEAD WITH PROFIT. 

BY SYLVANUS COBB, JR. 

*' Charles," said Sarah Ellerj to her hus- 
bimd, as he was leaning back from the breakfast 
table, " can you not let me have three dollars 
this moruing "?" 

" Three dollars, Sarah ? Why, what do you 
want of it V 

" Why," returned the wife, in a persuasive 
tone, while a shade of anxiety flitted across her 
face, "you know little Lucy needs an outside 
gai-raent of some kind, for even yesterday she 
came home from school crying from the effects 
of the cold, and to-day it will be colder still. 
Now Mrs. Robinson has a sack which she had 
made for her little child, but as it is too small 
she would like to sell it, and she offers it to me 
for three dollars. It just tits Lucy." 

"Well, you can get it, I suppose," said Mr. 
Ellery, somewliat uneasily. 

" But will you let me have the money, 
Ciiarles?" 

"No, Sarah, I could not to-day." 
" Then I cannot get the sack," returned Mi-s. 
Ellery, in a disappointed tone ; " for when Mrs. 
Kobinson sells it she wants the money to get 
another. If you could accommodate me to-day, 
Charles." 

"I cannot, Sarah; so tJiere's an end to it. 
I've been wanting a new pair of boots this three 
weeks, but I can't afford the money to get them. 
You will have to fix Lucy up some way for the 
present, and before long perhaps I can get her a 
sack." 

" And can't I have a sack, mama V asked the 

child, a little, l)right-eyed girl of six years of age. 

" Not now, Lucy. Pa hasn't got the money," 

answered her mother, endeavoring to soothe the 

child in its disappointment. 

"Not to spare," said Mr. Ellery, in a sort of 
nervous, explanatory manner. " 1 have money 
enough for that, but I have several small debts 
that must be paid." 

The child was bitterly disappointed, and l)eing 
no longer able to control her grief slie burst into 
tears. Mrs. Ellery looked sad and thoughtful, 
nor could she repress the tear-drop that stole to 
her eye. 

" There !" uttered Charles Ellery, as he arose 
from the tabic, and set his chair back with an 
energetic movement, "that's always the way. 
It'H nothing but money, money, money; and 
then when I haven't got it, there must be a cry- 
ing spell." 



"0, you wrong me, CInirlcs," uttered Sarah 
in an earnest tone, as she gazed reproachfully 
up into her husband'H face. " Y(ju know tlnit 
for myself I um willing to get ahnig almost 
any way — even 1 stay away tVom cIiuitIi ratlicr 
than call upon you for clothing ; but onr child 
must go to scliool, and for her sake have I asked 
this. It is the first time I Inive asked you for 
money for over a monili." 

Cbiirles Ellery felt like making some harsh 
reply to liis wife's remark, Imt he could not help 
seeing tluit she did not deserve it, and in an un- 
hapi)y, discontented mood, he nu'ned and left 
the house. 

After her husband Inul gone, Mrs. Ellery en- 
deavored to soothe her child's feelings ; but it 
was with a heavy heart that she saw lier little 
daughter start for school, for she knew that her 
dress was insutiicient to protect her from the 
weather, but she fixed the little one up as best 
she could, and faintly hojiing that she might not 
suffer, the mother saw licr child depart. In vain 
was it that Mrs. Ellery tried to banish the un- 
pleasant feelings that bad taken possession of 
her mind, for long had slie suffered in silence 
and alone ; and throughout the day she was sad 
and unhappy. 

Charles Ellery was a good mechanic, and he 
worked very steadily, and his pay amounted to 
ten dollars a week. His house rent was only one 
dollar and twenty-five cents per week, his furni- 
ture was all paid for, and his provisions did not 
average over four dollars a week at the farthest, 
and yet his wife and child actually suffered, at 
times, for the want of clothing. Not that they 
were ever ragged, or even short of decent wear- 
ing apparel, but there were many little things 
that would have really conduced to their com- 
fort and happiness which they were obliged to 
do without; and then, when the wife did obtain 
some trifling article of dress, the money with 
which to pay for it came so hard and ungra- 
ciously, that she would almost rather have done 
without it. There was another thing that added 
to her weight of son-ows. Eor a long time her 
husband had passed his evenings away from 
home, even remaining away till midnight, and 
often later, and that at such times he made fre- 
quent use of alcoholic beverages ; but against 
this she had never made a decided remonstrance, 
for he had never returned to his home in a state 
of intoxication, and she had no idea that what 
little he drank could make much difference in a 
pecuniary point of view. Y'ct Sarah Ellery was 
not without her fears, and as night after night 
passed, and found her husband absent so late 
from his home, she eould not but tremble for tlie 
future. 

That night little Lucy returned from school 
wet and cold ; and with a mother's fond care, 
Mrs. Ellery changed her gai-ments and placed 
her by the warm fire ; but a cold shiver seemed 
to have taken possession of the child, which no 
outward warmth could overcome, and the moth- 
er Justly feared that her daughter would be sick. 
Charles came home to his supper, and as the 
events of the morning had passed from his mind, 
he was comparatively happy and cheerful ; but 
still he could not help noticing that his little 
child was not so sprightly as usual, and that his 
wife was sad and thoughtful. Then the thought 
came over him that tins was the effect of the 
morning's scene, and he became moody and 
taciturn, and at length he took his hat to go out. 
" Charles,*^ said his wife, in a kind, imploring 
manner, " couldn't you stay with me this even- 
ing 1 I'm afraid Lucy is going to be sick, and 
it is so dark and stormy, that I really feel lone- 
some. You used to spend your evenings witli 
your wife." 

"O, I'll be back in good season, Sarah. I'm 
just going out to see what's going on. Lucy'U 
do well enough, I guess." 

" Then you will be at home early, wont you 7" 
" Yes," returned Mr. Ellery, in a sort of hesi- 
tating, undecisive manner; and without further 
remark he left the house. 

Now as Charles Ellery walked along away 
from his home, he nu\dc up his mind that bo 
would return early — he would look in at one or 
two places where his companions were in the 
habit of congregating, smoke a cigar, have a 
little chat, and then rctuni. The first place lie 
came to was an oyster saloon, kept by one of 
his old friends, and as he entered, he was greeted 
by a hearty ^Velcome from all hands. 

" Come, boys," said one of the party, shortly 
after Charles had entered, " let's shake for the 
drinks." 

Charles Ellery might have resisted a direct 



invitation to drink, for IiiH appetite did not crave 
it; but the accompanying amusement was so en- 
tertaining, so Horial, that he could not say uo, 
and flo he joined with the rest in the sport. The 
dice-box was procured, and the party, eight in 
all, commenced the game. Hound and i-ound 
went the dice — one after another of the party 
were freed from the "treat," and at length 
Charles Ellery was decided the loser. Hot 
brandy punches was culled for, and Charles paid 
the bill — fifty cents— but that was nothing — 
'twas mere sport; and witliout a thought, save 
of pleasure, he threw a three dollar bill upon 
the bar, from which to have the expense of the 
eight "punches" taken. The sport was so ex- 
citing that the dice-box was called for again, and 
though Charles got clear of the bill, yet he drank 
with the rest, and then a third time was tlie 
game played, and a third time did Charles 
Ellery drink. 

All Imnds were now ready for amusement. 
One thing after another was jiroposed, until it 
was at length agreed to have a cosey game of 
billiards. Had Charles been asked half an 
hour previously to have gone on such a night's 
entertainment, he might have said "nof but 
now, with three glasses of brandy-punch sending 
its fumes up into his brain, be most unhesitat- 
ingly said "yes," and so to the billiard-room 
they went, and it was not till the city bell struck 
the hour of midnight that the part}' broke up. 

When Charles Ellery left his jolly compan- 
ions, he found that he had spent just three dollars ; 
but the fumes of pleasing liquor still made him 
feel happy, and he thought it a mere trifle wlxen 
compared with the amount of social pleasure he 
had received from it. With a light, easy step he 
started towards his home, but ere he had been 
long on the way, his step grew heavier, for he 
happened to remember that he had promised his 
wife that he would be at home in good season, 
and when he entered his dwelling, it was not 
without a sort of misgiving that he was not 
doing exactly as he ought to do. He found his 
wife with a thick shawl drawn closely over her 
shoulders, sitting over the flre ; and as the gentle 
Sarah cast her eyes towards him, he could not 
fail to observe that they were red and swollen 
with weeping. 

" Why, Sarah, what are you up for at this 
time of night ?" asked Charles, in a sort of won- 
dering, uneasy tone. 

"I could not go to bed till you had come, 
Charles," said she, rising from her seat, and ex- 
tending her hand to her husband. " And be- 
sides, oiur child is very sick, 0, I liope Lucy 
will not have the fever that is so prevalent 
around us." 

" 0, there's no danger, I guess," returned Mr. 
Ellery, in a conciliatory tone. " Only a slight 
cold — she '11 soon get over it." 

" But she's very sick, Charles — vei^ sick ; and 
I am really fearful that she is threatened with a 
fever. I have done evei-ything for her I could, 
however, and perhaps she may get over it." 

Cliarles Ellery felt ill at ease. Not one word 
had his wife said about his remaining so late 
away from home, and as he began to realize 
how much she had suffered in her loneliness, 
his heart smote him with his coldness. Such 
little attentions as Mrs. Ellery could bestow upon 
her child were freely administered, but some 
time ere the moniing dawned, Mr. Ellery found 
it necessary to go for the doctor. 

The first gray streaks of moniing were begin- 
ning to relieve the gloom of the eastern horizon 
when the doctor entered where little Lucy Ellery 
lay. 

"You should have called me last evening, 
Mr. Ellery," said the physician, as he felt the 
child's pulse, and examined her tongue. " Then 
I might have broken up this fever, but it's too 
late now. The disease is firmly seated." Then 
turning to Mrs. Ellery, he continued : 

"I'm afraid you have not been sufticiently 
careful of your child. Y'ou say slie attended 
school yesterday V 
" Yes sir." 

" Then her cold must have been very sudden," 
remarked the doctor, again turning to the child. 
"However," lie added, in a sort of explanatory 
manner, " we must all learn by experience. At 
such seasons as the present, children cannot be 
t6o warmly dressed when out of doors." 

Sarah dared not look up at her husband, for 
slie feared be Eiight misconstrue her feelings. 
Charles dared not look at his wife, for he feared 
to meet her tearful gaze. 

"Mama," said little Lucy, in a weak, husky 
voice, after the doctor liad gone, "my head 
aches very hard. O, if I liad had that sack to 



wear, I shouldn't have been sick, ehould I, 
mama'?" 

" Hush, my dear; perhaps when you get well, 
papa will be able to get you one," said Mrs. 
Ellery, as she drew llic bed-clothes over the 
child, and smootlied her burning brow. 

Like a long reverberating thunder-boll fell 
these simple words upon the ear of Charles El- 
lery. For the first time he began to see the 
course lie was pursuing in its true light. He 
had never meant to sin — lie had never meant to 
wrong a human being, and in his most excited 
moments of social frolic, he had never dreamed 
that harm was being the result. His breakfast 
was eaten in silence, and promising that he 
would be at home to an early dinner, he went to 
his work. 

" Good God !" exclaimed Charles EUeiy, as 
he stepped out into the open air. " Is it possible 
that I have so long been sowing the seeds of 
misery in my family! Yesterday moniing my 
good, kind wife wanted three dollars to buy a sack 
for our dear child. I could not spare it ! I did 
think so then ; I did not mean to tell a lie. And 
yet, last evening I spent that full sum for nothing 
ay, worse than nothing, for even now my head 
aehes, and my whole system is out of tunc from 
last night's scrape. Now, my child is sick for 
the want of that very three dollars. Then how 
have I deceived and cheated myself. I need new 
boots, and yet 1 have suffered in their want, be- 
cause I thought I could not afford it ; and yet, 
what I spent last night would have bought them, 
and my money would have been a source of 
lasting good ; but now I have made it a source 
of lasting evil !" 

In such meditation walked Charles Ellery to 
his shop. A thousand scenes of the past came 
back to his mind, and he saw a thousand pictures 
of his ingratitude to his wife, his child, and him- 
self. How many times had his wife wanted 
some little article of comfort that he had denied 
hex*, because he could not spare the money 
— how many times had his child begged for 
some small toy, which his scanty purse obliged 
him to refuse — and liow often had he seen some 
trifling article of food, clothing, or ornament, 
which he would have been pleased to purchase, 
but that he had not money enough ; and yet, on 
each of such occasions, he could distinctly re- 
member having spent double the sum which 
his family's comfort required for a mere nothing 
— for a worse than nothing ! Night after night 
had he spent away from home, wasting his 
money, his health, and his strength, while his 
poor wife was lonesome and sad at home. How 
much of useful reading he might have gained — 
bow much of happiness bestowed upon his wife 
— liow much money might he have saved, and, 
above all, how much happier might he liave 
been himself, had those evenings been spent 
beneath his own roof! 

Charles Ellery was not blind, and of course he 
saw his en'ors. He was not lost to kindly feel- 
ing and domestic love, and of course he resolved 
to reform. 

When Mr. Ellery returned from his day's la- 
bor he found his child quite sick, but yet not dan- 
gerously so. The doctor had left word for him 
to go to the apothecary's after some medicine, 
and after eating his supper he started off, and 
though he met half-a-dozen of his old compan- 
ions, each of whom urged him to join them, yet 
he had no tliought save to return immediately to 
his home ; and the kind, grateful look of his 
wife, when he returned so speedily, sent a thrill 
of pleasure to bis soul such as he had not expe- 
rienced for a long time. 

A week passed away, and every evening had 
Charles spent at home with his wife. He had 
read and conversed, and laughed and played 
with his recovering child, and when Saturday 
night came, he felt himself to be the happiest 
man alive. In vain was it that he was urged lo 
join again the social circles of his bacchanalian 
companions, for his heart turned in loathing 
away from their I'evelry, and he wondered how 
he could ever have been so thoughtless as \o 
have given them the preference over his own 
sweet home. 

" Sarah," said he, as he returned home on the 
last evening of the week, "has Mrs. Kobinson 
sold that sack yet '?" 
"No, Chai-les." 

"Then here are five dollars," said Mr. Ellery, 
at the same time handing his wife a bill. " You 
can purchase the sack, and then you will have 
two dollars left, which you can use as you tliiiik 
proper." 

"But I'm afraid you cannot aflbrd this, 
Cliarles," returned Sarah, looking half-wonder- 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWIXCx ROOM COMPANION. 



55 



inp:ly and half inquisitively iuto her husbiuid's 
face, 

"Afford it," uttered Charles, gazing tenderly 
into his wife's kind features, " 0, my dear wife, 
if my past neglect can be forgotten and forgiven, 
I will afford everything that can conduce to your 
happiness. Instead of paying my money for 
useless, hurtful amusements, I will use it for the 
comfort of my dear fiimily," 

" Charles," cried the enraptured wife, " I have 
never blamed you. I have never found fault ; 
but O, if you will make me happy by your com- 
pany these long winter evenings, I shall be 
happy indeed." 

"And that company you shall have. In fact, 
I will be a husband and a father," returned 
Charles, with a proud, conscious look, and on 
the next moment he folded liis wife to his 
bosom. She wept, but they were tears of joy 
that rolled over her cheeks, and she thanked 
Heaven for the bliss of that moment. 

The winter passed away, and the gentle breath 
of spring wai-med the earth into life. Charles 
EUeiy had put a new carpet upon his floor— to 
his wife he had given a silk dress, and plenty of 
other clothing, and to his child he had given 
everything that her comfort and childish pleas- 
ure could require. His evenings had been spent 
at home, excepting on such occasions as his 
wife might bear him company, and in his heart 
lie knew that he was happier and better than be- 
fore. To make his home happy, and to make 
himself a useful member of society, were now 
his highest aims ; and he firmly resolved never, 
never again to mistake a false sociality for the 
true sphere of his moral and social nature. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
EVENING. 

BY JOHN F. JEFFERSON. 

"VTan twiliglit 'neath the west is fading, 
And sable night walks o'er the vale ; 

Ten thousand stars are promenading. 
On azure plains, by moonbeams pale. 

The dewdrops on the hranchlets pending, 
Appear like polished mirrors hright, 

Where starry images are lending 

To night's dull path their mimic light. 

And now comes silence, softly creeping 
Along the track that night doth tread ; 

>Vhcre nature, weary soon, is sleeping, 
Fast in her quiet, curtained bed. 

Sweet sleep, that calmeth ail our sorrows ; 

That gently wipes away our tears, 
And bids us hope for bright to-morrows, 

Exempt from conflicts, doubts and fears. 

Thou art welcome, iwnsive, tranquil hour, 

When day's perplexing labors close ; 
When sleep^s enchanting, soothing power 
Brings weary limb and thought repose. 

1 ^a^ » 

WAK, 
If war has its chivaliy and its pageantiy, it 
has also its hideousness and its demoniac woe. 
Bullets respect not beauty. The}- tear out the 
eye, and shatter the jaw, and rend the cheek. 
Mercy abandons tiie arena of battle. The fran- 
tic war-horse with iron lioof tramples iipon the 
mangled face, tlie throbbing and inflamed 
wounds, the splintered I>ones, and heeds not the 
shriek of torture. Crushed into the mire by the 
wdieels of heavy artillery, the victim of war 
thinks of mother, father, sister, home, and moans 
and dies ; his mangled corpse is covered witli a 
few shovelsfull of eartli, and left as food for vul- 
tures and dogs, and lie is forgotten. He who 
loaths war, and will do everything in his power 
to avert it, but who will, in the last exti'eraity, 
encounter its perils, from love of countiy and 
of home — who is willing to sacrifice himself 
and all that is dear to him in life, to promote the 
well-being of his fellow-man, will ever receive a 
wortliy liomage. — Al)bot. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
TO MRS. E. CHANDLER. 

BV MRS- R. T. ELDREDGE. 

As some fair bud of beauty, rich and rare, 
Watched o'er and guarded \vith unceasing care ; 
Crushed by the spoiler's hand, decays and dies, 
Ere half its beauty meets our longing eyes ; 
'T was thus thy infant girl, so pure, so fair, 
Faded and died beneath thy fostering care. 

Ere the fair bud had burst into a flower, 

To grace ■with beauty bright its native bower, 

'T was crushed by death, and borne from earth away ; 

The fairest buds oft earUest decay : 

She was too pure on this cold earth to linger. 

Death marked the bud with his destructive finger. 

The youngest of thy fold, thy brigbt-eycd girl, 
la home from thee unto the spirit-world ; 
No grief, no pain can reach thy darUng there, 
She "11 dwell forever free from every care ; 
■T will calm the tumult in thy troubled breast, 
To think and know thy loved one is at rest. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
THE LONE HEART. 

BY JOSEPH H. BDTLEB. 

Adieu, ye days of happiness, 

Adieu, ye joys of youth ; 
Life's river onward sweeps away, 

And time reveals the truth. 

He rends the flowery wreath that bound 

Soft pleasure's lovely brow ; 
And joys that charmed tbe bosom then, 

Have lost their influence now. 

The vision of romance no more 

Can weave its potent spell ; 
And love, though mtching be its power, 

I bid a sad farewell I 

Stem, dull and dark, the shadows lower 

Before my sorrowing eye ; 
Poor heart I there's httle left thee here. 

Except the hope — to die I 

The sea of life is wild and dim, 

For sorrow's storm is here ; 
My bark is drifting guideless on, 

Where fatal rocks are near I 

Once shone a guiding star for me, 

Bright, beautiful and true ; 
That star has set in clouds of death, 

And darkness meets my view. 

My path on earth was often strewed 

With many a lovely flower j 
But 0, they all have died away, 

Beneath time's wasting power. 

When sickness mth its iron grasp 
Keeps watch around my bed, 

I sigh for thee, my lovely one 1 
AVhere has thy spirit fled ? 

By stranger hands is coldly done 

Each kindly oflice now ; 
Since the dark waves of ocean roll 

Above thy faded brow 

Alone, alone, my spirit mourns 

Over the scenes long past ; 
A pilgi'ini on Ufe's rugged wild, 

I tremble in the blast. 

Just Heaven I why is such mournful lot 

Accorded unto man? 
Yet could our darkened vision see. 

There 's wisdom in its plan. 

Be still, my spirit ! wait His will, 

Who holds creation up j 
And strong in faith and hope, receive 

From Him life's bitter cup '. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

SUBIMER BOARDING. 

BY MHS. E. WELL3IONT. 

" But I should prefer to hoard whei*e at least 
there was an air of gentility about the place," 
remarked Mi's. Pipps to her husband, in a some- 
what irritated tone. " Do look at my neighbors ; 
every one has gone to some fashionable watering 
place, or at some noted hotel, while you arc 
quite content to set yourself and me down in an 
obscure fanii-house, wdicre the broom is liandled 
by the hostess, and the butter clmrned by her 
daughter ; and of what use is such a life ? I 
know nothing of the world, I see no amusing 
flirtations, have no reason for dressing for din- 
ner in any different style, and for my evening 
entertainment I am obliged to listen to you and 
Uncle JeiTy, who talk only about mixing soils, or 
tlic best mode of destroying caterpillars, or assign- 
ing perhaps half a dozen theories to aid you in 
solving the mysteiy of the decay of the button- 
wood trees in the front garden. Now just think 
w^hat interest, Mr. Pipps, can I be expected to 
take in such conversation." 

" But you forget the cheerful endeavors to 
serve and please you which Aunt Kjzzy makes, 
and her daughter Hitty, who offex'S to read to 
you after their work is done, and the nice grid- 
dle cakes, and tlie rich cream she so generously 
mingles with the berries ; and above all, there 
is Mount Canncl, where tlie high bushed black- 
ben-ics grow in such clusters, of which I am 
sure you are equally fond as myself. And all 
tills, too, is furnished for so reasonable a com- 
pensation; the trifling sum of Ave dollars a 
week defrayed all our expenses, including wash- 
ing, all the tune we stayed in this farm-house." 

"All, there's the secret," continued Mrs. 
Pipps ; " the everlasting scarcity of money 
makes this place so desirable to you. Why 
don't you make this excuse when you arc be- 
sieged to give for political puiposes ? Por my 
part, I should prefer to stay lialf as long and be 
able to tell, when I returned, tliat I had seen 
somebody. I don't care so much about the 



salubrious air, nor the fine scenery, nor the rich 
cream of which Mrs. Hobbs is so liberal ; I 
should prefer to be where I could see distin- 
guished people — genteel women who manage to 
get at their husbands' purses and make a figure 
in the world. Farm-house i-usticity does not 
suit my taste, and I wont cqnccal the fact any 
longer." 

" But I have already written Uncle Jerry, to 
know if they would be pleased to receive us 
another summer upon the same terms as the 
last." 

" I hope you mentioned that to re-carpet our 
chamber would be indispensable ; and the re- 
moval of those old braided mats must be made 
for a nice rug, and for my part, I shall insist 
upon a thicker mattress — there is no use in pay- 
ing one's money for nothing." 

And now we mil leave Mi*s. Pipps to do bat- 
tle with a vexatious musquito, and her liusband 
to reconcile Iier to nistic simplicity, while wc 
take a peep into tlie summer quaitcrs among tlie 
green hills of Vermont. It is a charming loca- 
tion. The farai-house is at tlie top of the hill, 
and overlooks one of the most commanding 
views, dotted ivith noi<;h')oring farm-houses, long 
fields of waving corn, and now and then patches 
of heavy red and white clover, which imparts a 
fragrancy to the air and is enough to fill the 
heart of a city recluse with ecstatic joy, not- 
withstanding Mrs. Pipps's dissatisfaction. 

But there is a discussion going on. Hitty is 
the amanuensis, and sits biting her pen, await- 
ing orders what to transfer to paper. It appears 
that a day or two before Mi-. Pipps sent his re- 
quest, Judge Conley was travelling through this 
part of the countiT, and feeling the need of the 
refreshing mountain breezes, he had inquired 
whether he could be received into any farm- 
house in the immediate vicinity, and an applica- 
tion was made to Mr. Hobbs, the very person 
with whom Mr. and Mrs. Pipps had boarded. 

The judge was a widower ; a man of wealth, 
Imt an admirer of nature. He sketched some ; 
he ^rished for retirement ; was liberal in his 
offers to remunerate our friends, offering the 
same amount for himself as both Mr. and Mrs. 
Pipps paid, and as he desired no change of 
style, Mr. Hobbs was disposed to receive him. 
And now came the question whether the Pipps 
would be satisfied with smaller accomodations, 
and whether, moreover, they really w^anted tiiem 
on any consideration ; for it was apparent to 
people of such good common sense, that JIi's. 
Pipps's element lay in more fashionable society ; 
so after a full discussion it was concluded that 
tliey could not receive the above couple, and 
Hitty was designated to put it in proper plu-ase- 
ology, which, -witli her good education, was no 
difficult task. 

Upon receiving the reply, it w^as indeed a 
wonder to the supei-ficial Mrs. Pipps how a 
fanner's daughter could dictate such a delight- 
ful note. " I am sure," said she, " I never saw 
Hitty use a pen, but I alwa^-^s knew she had 
studied grammar, and I have often wished, Mi-. 
Pipps, we had treated the girl with more civility 
when she came to the city last autumn ; but my 
heart is so estranged from country cousins, I 
acted naturally." 

" And so, wife, after all, we cannot board in 
our Green Mountain State — now where shall we 
go?" 

Mrs. Pipps immediately suggested advertising 
in the evening papers ; it was late in the season, 
all the fashionable quarters were occupied ; but 
in a few days she received a statement of terms 
from the landlord of a celebrated hotel, that a 
small, unoccupied chamber was vacant, with a 
privilege in the common parlor, which could be 
improved at the rate of twenty dollars per week, 
and Mr. Pipps determined to try the experi- 
ment of " genteel boarding." 

Mrs. Pii)ps was in ecstacy ; all her satins, 
silks and bareges were refitted by the last fashion 
plate, and slie was soon in free and easy conver- 
sation with the Jones, the Hills, and the Gills ; 
but she always scrupulously concealed the fact 
that she had passed her two last summers in the 
farm-house. She was careful never to introduce 
her daughter Clarinda, who was at a boarding- 
school, to Hitty Hobbs, and so the daughter liad 
formed an idea of Miss Hobbs, as some awk-. 
ward. Green Mountain hoyden, who knew only 
how to do rough work, and would shame a city 
maiden by contact. 

Mrs. Pipps, however, in her new home, did 
not find " genteel society " so comfortable as she 
expected. There were cliques and jjartics ; 
there were jealousy, aiid envy, and distmst. Mi*. 



Pipps was known as the henpecked husband, 
and sundry wives despised in others just what 
they were guilty of doing themselves. The 
small chamber they occupied was filled with un- 
comfortable occupants ; the buzzing of flies, the 
whizzing of musquitoes, and the glaring blaze of 
the sun, compelled her to draw a comparison 
between that large, neat room she occupied in 
the farm-house, where the eiglit-day clock ticked 
in the corner, and fresh bouquets appeared on 
the mantle shelf. Yet a month's board there 
cost no more than a week here — but gentiliti/ 
made the difference. 

At the close of a sulti-y day towards autumn, 
the busy rumor ran the rounds that a newly 
married couple, of distinguished notoriety, had 
arrived and would appear at table. Expectation 
was on tiptoe, and the greatest preparations were 
made for sight-seeing, when lo, at the head of 
the table appeared Judge Conley and " she that 
was Hitty Hobbs ! " 

Mrs. Pipps could not control herself. She 
ran and saluted the bride as her most intimate 
friend ; she welcomed her — she expressed so 
much regret at not passing the present summer 
at her father's house — she should have been so 
delighted wit!i Judge Conley's society, and that 
same evening it was proposed they should ride 
over to the seminary to be introduced to her 
daughter Clarinda. 

Mi-s. Conley did not, however, accept such 
attentions at this time, when she did not need 
them. She plainly added, with the refusal, 
" Mi's. Pipps, my man-iagc has not deprived me 
of my original identity. Wlien I visited you as 
Hitty Hobbs, I was only a green country girl ; 
my present position has added nothing to my 
worth of character ; if I can ever oblige you I 
shall be happy to do so, but I cannot accept 
your present civilities." 

Mrs. Pipps was so chagrined that she left her 
boarding house the next day, but was never 
after asliamcd to acknowledge that her most 
agreeable summer residence was at the mansion 
of Uncle Jen-y Hol)bs. 

Ml-. Pipps had no difficulty in inducing her to 
take any room she might obtain with her Green 
Mountain friends tlie next summer. And al- 
though Mrs. Conley spent her summers still at 
her father's, yet she taught Mrs. Pipps such a 
salutary lesson in her daily courteous conduct, 
that she was never after heard to complain of 
rustic simplicity, nor did she again en-vy those 
who were cooped up in genteel boarding houses. 
By degree's she learned to draw the distinction 
between the artificial and the real, and though 
often led to feel the effects of a supei-ficial edu- 
cation and a misdirected taste, yet slie never 
again manifested the foolish airs which an ill 
bred lady is sure to assume when she departs 
from her true position. Mrs. Pipps did improve, 
and is now known as a quiet and interesting 
woman, showing how good sense can triumph 
over a vain mind. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
TO A FRIEiVD ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

BY CAROLINE A. HATDEN, 

Thou may'st look back with gladness, 

For the by-gone years can bring 
To thy youthful heart no sadness, 

To thy memory no sting. 
And if in life's sweet morning, 

Some clouds have flitted o'er. 
They have only made thy natm-e 

More gentle than before. 

Thou wert cradled in the bower 

Of prosperity and love ; 
And thy pathway all along through life. 

Strewed with blessings from above ; 
And if some drops of sorrow 

Have been mingled in thy cup, 
'Twas thy Father's hand the chaUee filled, 

His mercy bore thee up. 

Fair child of early promise, 

This is thy natal day ; 
And may'st thou, crowned with blessings, 

Go rejoicing on thy way : 
High mental gifts attaining. 

And when the goal is won, 
May each throb of thy heart be as pure and warm 

As it was at twenty-one. 



A GOOD TURN OFF. 

William IV. seemed in a momentary dilemma 
one day, when, at table with several ofiicers, he 
ordered one of the waiters to " take away that 
marine, there," pointing to an emjjty bottle. 

*' Your Majesty," in(inired a colonel of ma- 
rines, " do you compare an empty bottle to a 
member of oiir branch of the service ?" 

"Yes," replied the monarch, as if a thought 
had sti'uck him ; " I mean to say it has done its 
duty once, and is ready to do it again." 



5G 



GLEASON'S nCTORIAL DRAW1N(J ROOM COMPANION. 




VIEW OF THE CITY OF NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND. 



WATERING PLACES IN THE U. STATES. 

We have long had it in contemplation to pre- 
sent onr readers with a scries of views represent- 
ing the most prominent of tlic watering places 
and summer resorts of our country, and it is 
■with great pleasure that we are enabled this 
week to commence the series witli a number of 
views illustrative of Newport and its vicinity. 
The "Island of Rhodes," as the first settlers 
called it, was settled as long ago as 1638 (soon 
after Roger Williams settled at Providence), by 
a number of the friends of Mrs. Anne Hutchin- 
son, who, like Williams, were driven from Mas- 
sachusetts by the persecutions and arbitrary rule 
of the leaders of that colony, to seek an asylum 
in the then comparatively unknoivn wilderness. 
Williams received the refugees with open arms, 
and through his influence and that of Ids friends, 
obtained a grant from the sachem of tlic Narra- 
gansctts, Miantonimoh, of the beautifal island of 
Aquitncck, and here, in this garden of America, 
they located themselves, and planted a thriving 
and prosperous settlement. Newport was set- 
tled in the year 1639, and so rapid was its growth 



to repletion, that previous to the Revolution it 
excelled New York in its trade and commercial 
advantages, and soon after that struggle it was 
remarked that if New York continued to increase 
as rapidly as it was then growing, it would soon 
rival Newport in commerce ! But as our space 
is limited, we will refer our readers to history, 
for the rise and progress of Newport, and pro- 
ceed at once to describe some of those interesting 
objects and localities which render it so attractive 
to the traveller and sojourner, and which our 
artist has enabled us to lay before the readers of 
the Pictorial. The large engraving at the top 
of this page gives an excellent idea of the ap- 
pearance of Newport as seen from the harbor. 
The view is taken from Conanicut Island, with 
portions of Rose and Goat Islands on the right 
and left of the picture. There is nothing re- 
markable or striking in the first view which a 
stranger obtains of the city in approaching it 
from the water. The harbor is one of the finest 
in the world, and is an object of interest ;)«■ se; 
but Newport derives its chief attractions from the 
two splendid beaches on the south side of the 



island, which afford facilities for sea bathing 
unexcelled on this continent. During six months 
of the year, or from November to May, the place 
i§ comparatively deserted, and presents the ap- 
pearance of an inland country town, but during 
" the season" it is all bustle and activity. Crowds 
of visitors throng its streets; gay equipages 
rattle over its pavements, and the devotees of 
fashion give a tone to its society, and a brilliancy 
to its promenades and drives which changes at 
once its appearance, and makes it a thriving 
business place. In fact, one third if not one 
half the population derive their means of liveli- 
hood, throughout the year, from the receipts of 
their business during the summer months. 

Our second illustration represents the first 
beach as seen from the top of the liill in the 
neighborhood of the Ocean House. Here the 
waves of old ocean come rolling in and break 
with ceaseless roar upon a strip of hard, level, 
sandy beach about half to two-thirds of a mile 
in length, and extending back a quarter of a 
mile to the edge of a pond or lake, formed by 
the sea breaking over the beach dm-ing heavy 




VIEW OF THE FIRST BEACH, NEWPORT, R. 1. 



stoi-ms. Bathing houses are seen ranged along 
the shore, while the numerous bathers present at 
this distance the appearance of a colony of ants 
huri-ying back and forth, to and fro along the 
edge of the breakers which now and then sweep 
over them, or throw them high and dry upon 
the shining sands. A prominent object of curi- 
osity to the visitor as lie enters or leaves the 
harbor, is old Fort Conanicut, on the southern 
point of the island of that name, which stretches 
along the front of the city. This is the ruin of a 
fort built by the British while they were in pos- 
session of Newport, and although tijue has done 
its work upon its weather-beaten crest, it still 
" rears aloft its regal form," and at sunset when 
the god of day sinks behind and brings out in 
bold relief its rotund shape, it presents a very 
picturesque appearance. Tlic people of Newport 
have given it the appellation of " the dumpling," 
from a fancied resemblance to that edible. The 
lighthouse seen in the distance on tlie right is 
Beaver-Tail Light, on the extreme southern point 
of Conanicut island. The greatest source of at- 
traction, however, as well to the casual obsei-ver 
as to the antiquarian, is the Old Stone Mill, 
as it is called. This antique building stands 
upon an open lot in front of the Atlantic House, 
and is owned by Gov. Gibbs, whose residence is 
shown in the background of the accompanying 
engraving. Nothing whatever is known of its 
history. The Indian had no tradition of its ori- 
gin, and, although volumes have been written, 
and theory upon theory has been adduced to 
give it a name and a date, we are still as far as 
ever from a satisfactory conclusion as to the pe- 
riod of its construction, or by wliom it was built. 
The savajis of Europe, the scientific societies of 
this country, have all been at a loss on the sub- 
ject, and thus it stands wrapped in the solitude 
of its own mystery, an enigma which will never 
be solved. It is built of unhewn stones, and lias 
probably been covered with stucco, made of 
coarse sand and shell lime, as remnants of that 
material have been found adhering to some por- 
tions of the interior. Just above the arches on 
the inside, are niches designed evidently to re- 
ceive floor timbers, and during the Revolutionary 
war it had a temporary roof. But on the evacu- 
ation of the island by the British, a keg of pow- 
der was placed in the interior and fired, with the 
evident intention of destroying tlic building. The 
only damage done, however, was in blowing off 
the roof, which carried with it about a foot of the 
top of the wall. The island affords numerous 
beautiful drives, over good roads, and there are 
many objects of interest to attract the attention 
of the lover of nature as well as the student of 
history. To the latter we would more particu- 
larly point out the birthplace of Gen. Nathaniel 
Greene, in the immediate neighborhood of tho 
city, and Gen. Prescott's head-quarters, about 
three miles out. The fonncr is an old-fashioned 
two-r,toried mansion, and does not differ materi- 
ally from other mansions of the period, except 
in the associations connected with it as the birth- 

Slace of one of the bravest of American generals, 
Fathaniel Greene, the Quaker. This alone, 
however, is sufficient to immortalize it. Gen. 
Greene's residence is situated about two miles 
to the south from the town of East Greenwich, 
on a small stream called Hunt's River. The 
brook widens into a ])ond directly opposite the 
front of the bouse, which stands on an eminence 
perhaps two liundrcd yards from it. This stream 
formerly tm-ned the wheel of a grist-mill, at 
which, together with the anchor forge and bhick 
smith's shop, Gen. Greene and his brothers were 
brought up to work. The place has been famil 
iarly called Potowomut from time immemorial, 
]u-obably the Indian name of the stream. The 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



57 



house fronts about soiitheast, which brings the 
point of view nearly to the south. The house is 
built of wood, and remains witli but very slight 
alterations just as it was "when the general was a 
boy. The window blinds are of modern date, 
as well as many of the trees which now adorn 
the grounds. It is now owned by a nephew of 
Gen. Greene, JIi'. Richard Greene, Judge of the 
Supreme Court of the State of Rhode Island, 
and is occupied by him as a country residence. 
The country quarters of Gen. Prescott were at the 
house of a Quaker by the name of Oberton or 
Ovcring, which is still standing about five miles 
from Newport, on the western road leading to 
Bristol Ferry. The view given herewith was 
taken from a point southwest of the house, where 
the road crosses a small stream which flows 
through the grounds. Gen. Prescott while quar- 
tered here was taken prisoner by a party of 
Americans and can-ied to the American camp, 
where he remained until exchanged. The room 
in which he was asleep when aroused by his cap- 
tons was on the second story, the corner room 
nearest the eye of the spectator. The visitor 
should not fail to ride out to Turkey and Butts's 
hills, in the northern part of the island, where a 
severe engagement took place during the Revo- 
lution between the Americans under General 
Sullivan and the British army at that time in 
Rhode Island. The coal mines at Portsmouth, 
and the observatory on 'Tonomy Hill, should 
also be visited. 

THE CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT. 

The main portion of this sketch is taken from 
" Lossing's Field Book of the Revolution," an 
invaluable serial, published by the Harpers, New 
York : " The British army, which was stationed 
in Rhode Island during a portion of the Revo- 
lutionary war, was under the command of Briga- 
dier-General Prescott, a mean-spirited tyrant, 
who sought every opportunity to vent his spite 
upon the weak and defenceless inhabitants. Such 
was the dislike in which he was held by them 
that various methods and plans were prepared to 
get rid of him or put him out of the way. It 
was reserved for Colonel Barton, of Providence, 
to propose and can-y out the most dangerous and 
fearless enterprise that was conceived during the 
war. Prescott was quartered about five miles 




FORT CON.\NICUT, OPPOSITE THE CITY OF NEWPORT. 




THE OLD STONE MILL, NEWPORT. 



from Newport, where the main body of the British army was sta- 
tioned. Almost in front of this mansion, and between the island 
and the main land where the Americans were posted, lay three 
British frigates with their guard boats, while just back of the 
house was a squadron of troops, and on the front, at a short dis- 
tance, was a guard house. On the night of July 10th, 1777, Col. 
Barton, with a party of forty officers and men, embarked from 
AVanvick Point in four whale boats, with muthcd oars, and crossed 
over to Rhode Island, passing so close to the frigates as to hear 
the " All's well " of the scntiy on deck, and landed in the mouth 
of a cove formed at the mouth of the little stream in the picture 
where it empties into Narragansett Bay. Dividing his men into 
several squads, and assigning each its duty, they advanced with 
the strictest or- 
der and pro- 
found silence 
towards the 
house. The 
main body 
went between 
the guard 
house and the 
troopers' quar- 
ters, while the 
remainderwas 
to make a cir- 
cuitous route 
and approach 
from the rear 
and secure the 
doors. As Bar- 
ton and his 
men neared 
the gate, a sen- 
tinel hailed 



quickly burst open. The general sprang from 
his bed ; Barton placed his hand gently upon 
his slioulder, told him he was his prisoner, and 
that perfect silence was now his only safety. 
Prescott begged time to dress, but it being a hot 
July night, and time precious, Barton refused. 
Throwing his cloak around him, and placing 
him between two armed men, the prisoner was 
hun-icd ashore. Major Barrington,Prescott's aid, 
hearing the noise in the general's room, leaped 
fiom a window to escape, but was captured. At 
about midnight captors and prisoners landed at 
Warwick Point, where General Prescott first 





GEN. PRESCOTT'S HEAD QUARTERS, NEWPORT. 



GENERAL GREENE's BIRTHPLACE; NEWPORT. 



them tivice, and then demanded the countersign. 
" AVe have no countersign to give," exclaimed 
Barton, and quickly added, " have you seen any 
deserters here to-night ?" The sentinel was de- 
ceived by the question, and supposed them to be 
friends, until his musket was seized and himself 
bound, and threatened with instant death if he 
made the slightest noise. The doors had been 
secured by the division from the rear, and Bar- 
ton entered the front passage boldly. Mr. Over- 
ton sat alone, reading, the rest of the family be- 
ing in bed. Barton inquired for General Pres- 
cott's room. Overton pointed upward; Barton, 
with five strong n^cn, ascended the stairs and 
gently tried the door. It was locked, but was 



broke the silence by saying to Colonel Barton, 
" Sir, you have made a bold push to-night." 
" We have been fortunate," eoolly repIied^Bar- 
ton. Captain Elliot was there with a coach, to 
convey the prisoners to Providence, where tliev 
an-ived at sunrise. Prescott was kindly treated 
by General Spencer and other officers, and in the 
CQJirsc of a few days was sent to the head-quar- 
ters of AA^ashington, at New AA^'indsor, on the 
Hudson. He was exchanged for Gen. Charles 
Lee in April following, and soon afterwards re- 
sumed his command of tlie British troops on 
Long Island. Congress subsequently voted Col. 
Barton an elegant sword on account of the daring 
bravery displayed by Imn on this occasion. 



58 



GLEASON'S PICTOHIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



[Wi-ltton for GlcoHOn'fl IMctorliil.] 
THE POET'S DRKAM. 

BY MAllY N. JIBAIinollN. 

In midnight Bleep T wimdorcil fur, 
OVr " mount, iiiid viilo, ami utreiiin ;" 

Ami t;lt>wing briffbt, hi fiuicy'M light, 
ApiK'iircii ciifli HiiiiUng Mtorio. 

Tho foniHtH rntig wiMi glndiloiu'il 8tmIiiB, 

In cciiocfl wild rtiid 1'r-o ; 
Mliilo distant IiUIb imd rippling rilla 

llppliod In toucfl of gleo. 

It seemed a type of lioavcnly life, 

A gloiun of glory here; 
A mct€Oi''H ray, to liglit our way 

Doyonil tbo reuoii of fear. 

WIxo ^vould not lovo to wander thus, 

Afar from grief or euro ; 
Since nought of strife or nialieo rifo, 

Can have a being there ! 

From whence do tbeso bright di-camw arise, 
And whore that fancied shore ; 

Whose quiot rest doth calm the brcaat, 
And t«ach tho poet's lore? 

'Tis not of earth — it savors not 
With iiught connected here ; 
But, lent to cheer our upward (light, 
Would claim a brighter sphere. 
» — ^- > 

[Written for Glcason's Pictorial.] 

MARK WARLAND: 



FORTUNE AND FAVOK. 

BY GEO. CANNING HILL. 

Just at twilight, on a somewhat sultry day in 
June, Mr. Mark Warlanil sat musing at his win- 
dow. Now Mr. Mark Warland was neither a 
housekeeper nor the head of a family. He was 
simply a hoarder, and a single gentleman, at the 
house of Mrs. Tompkins, in town. 

Perhaps a more agreeable boarder than Mr. 
Mark Warhnid proved himself, Mrs. Tompkins 
never had. I will not now undertake to say how 
that was. The reader shall be left undistui-bed 
to the pleasure of his or her own inference. At 
all events, he received fully his individual atten- 
tion from the misti-ess of the mansion, as well as 
from lier only daughter — a quite agreeable young 
lady, by the by, — and a niece who came up to 
town on frequent visits. To tell the trutli, these 
two young ladies were very fond of making calls 
upon Mr. Warland in his room, when he took 
especial pains to regale them with such speci- 
mens of gossip, fun, frolic and fantasy as he 
could best command ; and the reader should 
know, too, that Mr. Mark Warland was a gen- 
tleman of great versatility of talent for entertain- 
ing his friends. 

He was sitting at his window, I said, just in 
the curtaining gloom of a June twilight, not such 
a green and leafy twilight as one gets in the 
country, but only a twilight fonned by the com- 
bination of bricks, mortar and coming darkness ; 
and his head rested thoughtfully upon his hand. 
His eyes were following the street passers slowly 
and dreamily, as if he botli felt deeply interested 
in their welfare, and car^d and thought just no- 
thing about them at all. 

If he had lost himself in reverie, it was, for a 
time at least, one of the most sluggish reveries 
that ever flowed through a man's brain. He 
seemed neither to think nor to care for anything 
especially. It was not stupor, and it was not 
thoughtlessness, but an union of both, quite as 
strange as it is inexplicable. 

While he still sat there dreaming, the drowsy 
echo of tramping feet and dull echoes alone ris- 
ing and mingling in liis silent chamber, the door 
opened slowly, and a person entered. It was 
Mrs. Tompkins. 

"Aha!" exclaimed that lady, in her most be- 
nign style, " you're in the dark, I see, Mr. War- 
land." 

"Walk in, walk in," returned her amiable 
hoarder ; " I know I'm in the dark, Mrs. Tomp- 
kins, but what of that"? Tm sure it's nothing 
new for me." 

"Dear, no," said the kind landlady. "I know 
you must mean in matters of business. You 
can't mean anything else. You are grown so 
very facetious." 

"I protest now, good Mrs. Tompkins," he 
intcrniptcd. 
"What?" 

"No complimcntfi, I beg you. I aint in a 
proper frame of mincl to receive them appreci- 
atively." 

"Well, well," retorted the lady, " I was only 



going to tell you what Agnes — my own dear 
Agnes — said." 

"And wont you tell me, MrH. Tompkins?" 
" Why — " and she stuck fast. 
"Do tell me, Mrs. Tompkins," jdeadcd her 
boarder. 

" Why, it's only what she paid about your 
growing so very funny, Mr. Warland. llu, ha, 
lia! I declare, Agnes, my dear Agnes says you 
have grown to bo the funniest man she ever 
knew." 

"Perhaps she doesn't know many," quietly 
suggested he. 

" Quite as many as I think is for her own 
good," replied Mrs. Tompkins, with some empha- 
sis. " But Agnes says she never saw l)ettcr 
company than you are." 
" Indeed!" 

" Yes ; and she declares she had rather be an 
hour in your society than ten minutes in that of 
everybody else she or I ever knew." 

" Worse and worse ! I declare, Mrs. Tomp- 
kins, you embarrass me unspeakably !" 

i*erhaps there might have been a spice of sar- 
casm or irony in this speech of Mr. Warland ; 
but, as it fortunately happened, Mrs. Tompkins 
failed to apprehend it. It was spice she, per- 
haps had never tasted. 

Many minutes did the landlady of Mr. Mark 
Warland persist in entertaining him in the twi- 
light of that warm June day, and cliiefly witli 
narratives of her daughter Agnes — her dear Ag- 
nes. Her boarder listened patiently to it all. 
Possibly she was convinced that he listened in- 
tently. But that was quite another thing. 

A pause of several minutes at length ensued, 
during which Mark sat gazing out into the street, 
apparently lost again in his dreams. 

"Mr. Warland!" exclaimed Mrs. Tompkins. 
He started, as if the sound of his very name 
liad startled him. 

" Well, iSL's. Tompkins," he replied. 
" Arc you asleep '?" asked she, playfully. " I 
thought you was ; and then there might be dan- 
ger of your falling out the window, you know." 
" No, I wasn't exactly asleep," said he. 
"Dreaming'?" asked the landlady. 
"No — yes — no, I was thinking." 
"A penny for your thoughts, then," she add- 
ed. " Why, you seem to forget that you've got 
company to entertain. And what if Agnes — my 
dear Agnes — should come in too ? Could you 
so lose yourself if you heard her ringing laugh 
here ?" 

"Mrs. Tompkins," said he, "let mc beg you 
not to mention her." 

" Aha !" replied the scheming widow, " don't 
be too modest now." 

" But I'll tell you what I was thinking about, 
if you'd really like to know," interrupted Mark, 
anxious to keep clear of the delicate subject of 
Agnes. 

" Do. What was it, pray ?" 
Mrs. Tompkins was really anxious to know. 
" I was thinking about the trip I am going to 
take to-moiTow into the country," said he, with 
excessive deliberateness. 

" You V exclaimed Mrs. Tompkins. " I had 
not heard of such a thing before." 

" No ; and I had not so much as thought of it 
myself, until I got seated here by the window 
and fell to thinking the subject over. But I be- 
lieve I shall take the early train in the morning, 
and be off." 

" To what place V 

" That I had not determined on yet," replied 
he. " I shall do that after I get started." 

Mrs. Tompkins perhaps sutfercd the suspicion 
to cross her mind that her boarder was a singu- 
lar genius. But if she did, he, at least, knew 
nothing of it. 

" Agnes has been wanting to go into the coun- 
try this summer, too," added she, after a brief 
but tlioughtful pause. 

Mark Warland inwardly wondered where Ag- 
nes did not want to go. 

" She has said so much about it," continued 
Mrs. Tompkins, with a persuasive roll of her 
fine eyes ; but that was all lost upon her boarder 
in the darkness. 

Mark did not pretend to doubt the very plausi- 
ble statement of his landlady. 

" So you will certainly go in the morning?" 
she continued. 
" I tliink so." 
"And alone, too?" 
" O yes, of course." 
"But don't know exactly where?" 
"No, not yet." 

" What a very queer man, to be sure !" 
"Men arc all queer, Mrs. Tompkins," rejoin- 



ed Mark Warlan<I, pleasantly. "It's only the 
worn in tliatare reconcilable with common sense." 
" You don't mean it, Mr. Warland ?" ex- 
claimed Mrs. Tompkins. 

" But indeed I do ; I never was more serious." 
"Well, well, then," said she, rising from the 
scat she had taken, "if you are going oft' as soon 
as Jty the iirst morning train, then you will liave 
many preparations to make. Good night;" and 
she moved thi'ough tlie door. 

" Shall Ann have ready ibr me a cup of coffee 
early enough?" he called out after her. 

" Certainly, certainly," replied Mrs. Tompkins. 

Mark was left alone again. He sprang into 

the middle of tlie floor at a single bound, and 

spreading out his limbs in u somewhat theatrical 

attitude, exclaimed aloud : 

" It's forever Agnes, my dear Agnes ! Agnes, 
in fact, will either be the death of me, or she will 
lose her dear mother a boarder. I was going to 
say I hardly cared which. I am going off al- 
most on purpose to get rid of this. It's coming 
upon mc much too fast. I can't bear it." 

With such expressions, and many more such 
thoughts, he proceeded to make the needful pre- 
parations for his projected journey, such as pack- 
ing his shirts, and dickies, and cravats, and ker- 
chiefs, and shaving utensils, and brushes, and 
books, and papers, and so forth, and so on, into 
his capacious portmanteau. All this accom- 
plished, he stepped out to make purchases of 
such few articles as would be most needful for 
him on his jaunt. In a short time he retm-ned 
again, and went to bed. 

With the sun, Mark Warland was up in the 
morning again. Its golden bars let themselves 
softly tlirough his slightly parted curtains into 
his room, and the place seemed suddenly filled 
with enchantment. 

There was great confusion in tlie room, as one 
would very naturally expect. Books and pa- 
pers, and chairs and tables, and bedsteads, and 
trunks, were heaped togetlier in intricate disor- 
der. Nothing seemed in its place, and every- 
thing seemed out of it. 

Mr. AVarland had hardly finished his moniing 
ablutions, to which, on tliis morning, was to be 
added the operation of shaving, when there came 
a knock at his door. 

"Breakfast!" called out the maid. 
"Be down in a minute," replied Mark. 
Ere long he was seated over his steaming 
coffee, whose strong aroma filled not only the 
dining-room itself, hut likewise the hall beyond. 
As it must happen — though xmdoubtedly Mrs. 
Tompkins knew best how it did happen — Agnes 
was already seated at the head of the table when 
he entered the room. He greeted her with his 
customary morning smile and bow. She blushed 
her usual morning-glory blush, and lisped his 
name. 

He hurried through with his breakfast without 
pausing much at inter\'als to enlighten Agnes on 
the subject of his journey, though that young 
lady sat behind the huge cofFee-urn a perfect im- 
personation of patience. She kept the draw- 
bridges of hearing down all the time, eager that 
not the slightest hint of the young gentleman's 
destination should be allowed to pass over. But 
Mark was obdurate at heart, or else he had not 
even yet determined for himself where he would 
go. Perhaps the latter. 

Carpet bag in hand, and hat on his head, he 
took his leave of Agnes, who had by this time 
been joined by her anxious-looking mother in 
the hall, and tripped off" lightly down the steps. 
His heart was as fresh as morning dew. Why 
should it not have been ? He was going into 
the country, where dew was only thouglit to fall. 
It was a short ride only in the cars, and from 
the point of bis debarkation from them he began 
a journey of about a dozen miles In the stage. 
Nothing occurred during that ride to occasion 
particular notice at the hands of the narrator, 
and I therefore consign it to the general fate of 
all stage-riders — forge tfulness. 

The coach at length brought him to the place 
of his destination. It was a secluded village 
among the mountain ridges, with long stretches 
of beautiful rolling land far away on its souther- 
ly side. 

There was a good hotel in the village, and 
Mark Warland thought he should make out a 
pleasant lime of it. He was as partial to crea- 
ture comforts as any one else. Besides this, the 
town was somewhat of a resort for summer trav- 
ellers, and of consequence boasted not a little 
of its excellent social privileges. There were 
many ster'.ing and wealthy families there, among 
some few of whom Mr. Warland hoped to bo 
able lo pass a few weeks pleasantly. 



He was shown to his room, and the first thing 
he did wjus to seat himself in the big arm-chair 
by the window, and lapse into u reverie. With 
bis chin resting upon his Iiand, and his elbow 
propped upon the window sill, he let his eyes 
swim slowly up and down the village street, and 
then flout silently into the leafy cloisters of a 
huge elm tree, where they at length rested. 

He thought of tlie old time and the new time. 
Everything and evei-ybody were in his thoughts 
togetlier. He wondered what sort of people 
dwelt in tlie town of Elmgrovc; and asked liim- 
self many times, unconsciously, let us hope, if 
the hisses thereabout were as beautiful and jls 
bewitching as his winged fancies had painted 
them. 

From this pleasurable state he was soon arous- 
ed by being called to tea — n call that awoke his 
senses fully. Having prepared himself hastily, 
lie left his room and went down to partake of 
that meal. 

Wlien tea was over, he sauntered into the bar- 
room, and thrusting a lighted cigar between his 
teeth, proceeded to interrogate the vary commu- 
nicative landlord quite freely respecting the char- 
acteristics of the village. 

" Plenty of society here ?" inquired Mi'. War- 
land, blowing out a blue cloud from his curled 
lips. 

" Society? 0, a plenty of it, sir, here," i"es- 
ponded Boniface. " You couldn't have come to 
a much better place for that." 

"That includes female society, of course?" 
pur.sued the young man. 

" Of course, of course," replied the landlord. 
" There's a plenty of it here. A great many 
visitors come to pass a part of the summer here; 
and between one thing and another we manage 
to make out a pretty lively season of it." 

And Mr. Warland did not see, either, why 
they could not. It was a really lovely place ; 
there were all manner of facilities at hand for 
comfort and enjoyment, and a plenty of good 
society. Wliat more could reasonably be asked ? 
He walked to the door, and went out upon the 
street. Elms, huge-trunked and lcaf-cro^vned, 
stood in long rows on either side, fi'om whose 
roots to the edge of the road was a wide border- 
ing of freshest gx'ass. 

People were beginning to saunter in the cool 
shadows of evening along the walks, old and 
yoimg ; and the steady hum of voices that arose 
on the air betokened nothing so much as settled 
contentment and liappiness. 

This evening was but a foretaste of what all 
evenings would be to him in Elmgrove. He 
should live in such a pleasant buzz all the time. 
He would always hear just such pleasant sounds. 
Always see just such pleasant sights. Perhaps 
even plcasanter than these. 

Two days had passed away. In that time, 
Mr. Mark AVarland had fully acquainted himself 
with everything, and almost everybody in the 
neighborhood. By the politeness, too, of a 
young gentleman, whose acquaintance he thonght 
himself fortunate to make, he was honored not 
long after with a very friendly invitation to make 
one of an excursion party in the woods. It was 
just what he wanted — just what he left town and 
came out into the counti^ for. 

The gentleman who thus early profFei-ed him 
this mark of his friendship was Mr. William 
Gregory. Mr. William Gregory, too, liad a sis- 
ter. Perhaps this recollection haunted him ; and 
perhaps we are too much swayed by prejudice in 
the matter, likewise. He could not have been 
much more delighted at the greatest strettk of 
good luck. He already congratulated himself 
that he had been so fortunate in his selection of 
a summer lonnging-place. 

The day of the projected picnic came. Mr. 
Mark AVarland made all his preparations with 
the nicest exactness. His toilet was after the 
most approved styles. 

It was a lovely airy summer afternoon, with 
the cool winds drawing through the old elm-tops, 
and swinging their pendulous boughs hither and 
thither in the glistening sun. It was just the 
time for a ramble in the woods. IIow much 
pleasure Mark promised himself I 

All bis equipments and arrangements were at 
last made, and he held himself in readiness to 
receive the call of his friend, Mr. Gregory. It 
was not a long time, either, he was obliged to 
wait; for his polite friend was soon rapping at 
his door, and at length stood before him. 

"I really hope you may enjoy yourself to the 
utmost this afternoon," remarked Mr. Gregory. 
"I shall certainly expect to," returned the 
other. 

" I cannot promise you any scenes you may 



GLEASOX'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



59 



not lie filready familiar with," rejoined the other ; 
*' but you shall have as much attention as we 
know how to bestow on strangers here." 

Mark could thank him only with a bow. 

They started off together, intending to take 
the house of Mr. Gregory in upon their way. It 
was a delightful walk there, every step of which 
seemed to increase JIark's pleasure. His com- 



panion was very 



communicative, and discovered 



an extraordinary degree of kindness and hospi- 
tality. 

They came in sight, at length, of the mansion 
of Mr. Gregory's fatlier. It was a fine large 
building, standing some distance back from the 
sti-eet on rising ground, and presenting an ex- 
ceedingly imposing appearance. Mark noticed 
with peculiar satisfaction the noble trees, and the 
thick banks and walls of shrubbery, that stood 
all around it. He felt already that the occupants 
of such a place must be people of high social 
standing and qualities. 

They immediately entered the house, and 
Mark seated himself by invitation in the spacious 
and cool parlor. "V\Tiat a glorious place he 
thought its four high w^alls enclosed, in which to 
pass the dull and dreamy hours of a summer 
afternoon. He had almost, if not quite, begun 
to fall into a reverie upon the subject. 

But his thoughts suddenly came back to him 
again on beholding others enter the room. They 
were Mi-. William Gregory and his two sisters, 
so Mark at first supposed. They were all at- 
tired for the pleasant picnic excursion into the 
woods. The young man introduced the one to 
his friend as his sister Augusta, and the other as 
his cousin Mary. 

The taller, and fuller, and prouder-looking 
one was Augusta. Her face was full, and fair, 
and alive with expression. She had a strange 
appearance of pride and hauteur in her attitude 
even, that struck Mark's mind perceptibly. Yet 
he could not have described it if he would. 

Mary, the cousin, was a girl of a much more 
meek and trustful expression of countenance ; 
born, as we often say, not so much to command 
as to obey. Her eyes were blue, and heavenly 
in their look. A sweet smile played continually 
over her features that drew the hearts of others 
to her almost unconsciously. She looked as if 
she had labored and striven with almost su- 
perhuman strength to school her tender heart 
into some great resignation. 

He received their salutations with equally 
friendly and fervid ones of his own, and in a few 
moments all started off together for the scene of 
the afternoon's pleasure. 

It lies not with me to tell, or to attempt to 
describe, how the acquaintance of Mark with both 
the young ladies that day grew ; nor how fast it 
grew ; nor how soon it matured. These are 
matters that the reader must leave to his o^vn 
perceptiveness or imagination. Sufficient be it 
to say, that before the afternoon had far advanc- 
ed in the dim woods, he had become quite des- 
perately in love with Augusta, Mr. Gregory's 
sister ; while Mary, his cousin, was just as much 
smitten with him. As it also strangely enough 
happened, Augusta was not in the least impress- 
ed with tlie attractiveness of Mr. Warland, while 
he cared nothing at all, apparently, for Mary. 

Matters had been thus singularly assorted by 
fortune, and everything seemed to be at sixes 
and sevens. 

The rest of the day passed very agreeably to 
Mark, far more so than he could previously have 
suppo;.ed. Tliey all roamed, pretty much after 
their own pleasure, through the far-stretching 
woods ; some taking to the little skiffs on tlie 
Inke that slept iu the shadows, and others gather- 
ing flowers, and vines, and binding them into 
wreaths, and aftenvards placing them upon the 
beads of the particular objects of their admira- 
tion. All seemed, as all tried to be, happy. 

During the greater part of the time, Mark, 
whose natural clear-sightedness had now appear- 
ed to leave him, paid the most assiduous atten- 
tions to Augusta. He waited upon her here, and 
there, and everywhere. Wlicrever she went, he 
seemed to be at her elbow. 

It would be cruel, one would tliiiik, for a 
young lady not to have been agreeably affected 
by a com'se of such gallant attention ; but, 
strange as it must seem, and sti'angely as it may 
argue for her characteristics, she appeared quite 
as indifferent to his addresses, as if she liad not 
received them at all. 

It was odd enough, but none tlic less time for 
all tliat. Mark AVarland wss perfectly infatua- 
ted with Augusta. He admired and had a secret 
sympathy for Mary, ihe cousin ; but Augusta he 
thought he loved. 



They walked home together, lie and Augusta. 
It was just in the shadow of the evening. How 
his heart danced, and bumped, and palpitated. 
How quick came his breath. How his very eyes 
at times swam in his head ! The flittering of a 
pale ribbon iu the playful wind almost intoxica- 
ted him with an unspeakable joy. 

It was late — quite late — that night when he 
reached his room at the hotel again. He sat 
down by his open window, and gave himself up 
for a fall horn- to the most delicious dreams. 

Days went by in this way for some time ; and 
Mr. AVarland grew more and more enamored of 
Augusta, allowing such a thing to be possible. 
He waited upon her constantly at her house, day 
after day, and evening after evening. Each time 
he went there, he did not fail to see Mary, but ~ 
she was not the bright star of his attractions. 
Matters went on thus for some time. 

At length, as Mark found himself alone one 
evening with Miss Augusta, each sitting at no 
great distance from the other, and both veiy near 
the open window, where they could see the glit- 
tering moon upon tlie deep foliage, and feel the 
fresh wind-breaths upon their temples, he ven- 
tured to open to her the subject that so complete- 
ly filled his heart. 

He seized her hand, and told her in burning 
syllables what his feelings were. No — he could 
not have expressed them to her in words, he did 
it by broken syllables, and sighs, and fond pres- 
sures of her fair hand. He told her his love, the 
whole of it ; its length, and breadth, and depth. 
He assured her that for her alone he would be 
willing to die. No infatuated lover ever plead 
more eanicstly, or in more broken syllables. 

She heard him through patiently. Did she 
return such an answer to his petition as its sin- 
cerity and fervidness demanded? No, no, no ! 
Poor Mark ! He was doomed to a very bitter 
disappointment indeed. 

It was evident that while Miss Augusta was 
quite a good deal flattered with this declaration 
of his preference, she at the same time cared but 
little for him otherwise. 

Hastily rising from her seat and releasing 
her hand, she made some quite indifferent re- 
mark, and went out of the room. The young 
gentleman was thus left alone to his bitter re- 
flections. No better way could a girl have taken 
by which to express her disregard, or even her 
contempt, for another's feelings. It cut Mr. 
Warland to the quick. 

When Augusta returned, her cousin Mary was 
with her. She did not mean to have the subject 
touched that evening, it was plain. Mark sat 
only as long as might seem civil, and bidding 
the young ladies a "good-night," left them. 

Never seemed the night so dark, or the street 
so lonely, to Mark before. He was plunged in 
profoundest gloom. The sun seemed to have 
gone out of his sky altogether. 

He reached his room at the hotel at last, and 
threw himself down in his chair by the window. 
By that same window he had had the sweetest 
dreams ; by it he was now undergoing the most 
tortming realities. Was ever such chagrin 1 
How quickly it almost turned to passion ! How 
it quite boiled over in his now unsteady heart ! 
He wished a thousand times lie had never left 
the city for a country tour. He thought he might 
have been spared this mortification had he re- 
mained at home. 

He sat and thought it all over bitterly — his 
hopes and his crushing disappointments. And 
when he had at length arrived at the inference, 
how it shocked him ! 

Augusta might have heard he was poor, and 
so slighted his address. "Poor!" thought he; 
and he spake the odious word aloud to himself. 
" Poor !" That must have been the cause. He 
was satisfied of it abundantly. And then he 
went on to indulge Ins regrets, and repiuings, 
and perplexities, to his heart's utmost desire. 

While he was absorbed in this dismal and 
highly unhappy mood, liis door opened, and the 
communicative landlord stood before him. He 
extended a letter towards his new lodger. 

"This came by this evening's mail," said he, 
looking inquiringly at Mark's expression. 

The latter took it from his hand, and nanow- 
ly inspected its Tuperscription by the light the 
landlord had brought with him. It was in the 
handwriting of AgTies — Agnes, the " dear daugh- 
ter" of his old landlady in toivn. 

He waited, with a considerable degree of pa- 
tience, until the obliging host withdrew, and then 
broke the seal. It was only a brief note from 
Agnes, enclosing a letter that had reached his 
boarding-place a day or two before. Since com- 



ing to the country, we should have explained to 
the reader that he had acquainted Mi'S. Tomp- 
kins — not Agnes — with bis address, and request- 
ed that any letters that might an'ive in his ab- 
sence, should be sent to him. This was the fruit 
of his request. 

He broke the seal of the other letter and read. 
As his eyes ran along over the lines, they grew 
greater Avith astonishment. He read the letter 
through to the last line witli exceeding excite- 
ment. It was from the lawyer iu his native 
town, a great many hundred miles away in 
another State. The contents were to the very 
agreeable effect that an old uncle who had just 
died had left for his personal possession and en- 
joyment a very handsome property, and that his 
immediate presence there would be much for his 
interest. 

AVc will not stop to describe the excitement 
that got hold upon Mark Warland at that mo- 
ment. He rose from his chair, and his first im- 
pulse was to dance and jump for joy. But other 
and soberer thoughts at length entered his mind, 
and on their suggestion he began to make the 
needful preparations for his journey. He intend- 
ed to leave in the moraing by early stage, and 
hastened down stairs to apprize "mine host" of 
his wish, explaining that his letter contained 
news of importance, upon which he would be 
obliged to absent himself immediately. 

There was no leave-taking. He left to^vn 
before they could have even breakfasted at the 
Gregories, and not so much as a message had he 
dropped for one of them. 

We must now, as the novelists say, imagine 
many months to have passed aivay. During that 
time, perhaps, Augusta had heard of her new ad- 
mirer's good luck, though the probability is that 
she did not. 

Summer came round again. It was yet early 
in the season — early June. Mark Warland, now 
a wealthy man, came back to the village of Elm- 
gi-ove again, stopping at the old hotel, whose 
still very communicative landlord was glad to 
see and shake hands with him. 

He called at the Gregories again, intending to 
renew his acquaintance. Mi'. William Gregory 
was exceedingly glad to see him, and introduced 
him to the young ladies again. He had heard 
of Mr. AVarland's new streak of luck, and paid 
it and him deference accordingly. 

Stopping in the village for several days, he 
followed up his visits to that place with consider- 
able assiduity. Augusta was now ready, and 
perhaps desirous, to meet his advances ; while 
Mary, the cousin, seemed disposed rather to 
shun them altogether. 

However matters might have been at first, Mr. 
Warland determined to bring them speedily to a 
termination. And he certainly did. 

With as little preliminary pains-taking as pos- 
sible, he passed silently by the proud beauty of 
Augusta, and offered his hand and newly-found 
fortune to her cousin. She accepted his suit, 
and they were betrothed. 

It was not for at least twenty-four hours that 
Augusta heard of it. When she did, however, 
her heart was full of wrath. She secretly planned 
revenge upon Mark Warland. 

And could Mary, her poor cousin, escape her 
rage, either 1 No. She must be sacrificed, too. 
She must be cruelly punished for the part she 
liad permitted herself to take in this humiliating 
affair. It was now kno%vn through the village 
that Mr. Warland had recently inherited a large 
fortune. How deep, therefore, was Augusta's 
mortification on finding that she had been thus 
passed over by him, and her poor cousin prefer- 
red to her. 

Mark sat in his room one evening again, think- 
ing of leaving the village the next day for town, 
there to cany out his aiTangements for his ap- 
proaching marriage. 

He heard a boisterous knock, or bang, upon 
the door, and ordered tlie person outside to come 
in. The door opened, and in walked Mr. Wil- 
liam Gregory. He stepped briskly up before 
him, and demanded to know, in a fierce and fu- 
rious voice, why he had so treated the feelings of 
his sister. 

Mark Warland was completely thunderstruck. 
At the first he hardly knew^ what reply to make, 
or whether to make any. So he was, for a few 
minutes, silent altogether. 

"I will know your reason," continued the 
other, loudly, "and at once! More depends 
upon your answer than you can possibly be 
aware of!" 

This sentence only served to excite and aston- 
ish him still more deeply. At length, however, 



his lips were unsealed. He replied in a clear 
and determined tone : 

" Mr. Gregory, never, to my knowledge, have 
I injured or insulted the feelings of your sister. 
I do not know what you mean, by entering my 
room and thus addressing me." 

" Then I will not stop to tell you now," said 
he. " Here is my card ;" and he flung it towards 
him across a table. " You will hear from me 
again, sir." 

Without saying another word, the rampant 
young man went out of the room. 

Early the next moniing. Mi-. AYarland had 
left town in the stage. 

Three days afterwards, while still at his old 
boarding-place with Mi's. Tompkins, he received 
a letter, full of entreaty, and supplication, and 
bestained likewise with tears. It was firom 
Mary. 

She plead for pcnnission to come to him at 
once. She aveiTcd that her cousin's treatment 
to her was such that she should soon die if left 
to her tender mercies. And then she went on 
with a narration of the cruel wrongs that had 
been inflicted upon her since his absence. 

It fired Mark Warland with a new spirit. He 
could not endure that the betrothed of his heart 
should suffer such, or any indignities, on his ac- 
count. He sat dowTi to his table at once, and 
wrote a long reply. He begged Mary to leave 
her cousin's house at once and forever, and re- 
mitted money to her with which to do so. 

In two days more he sat by her side in a room 
in one of the hotels of the metropolis. 

They were speedily married, and departed to 
take actual possession of the estate that had been 
left Mark Warland by his generous and consider- 
ate uncle. 

There were not t^vo happier creatm-es any- 
where than were these two ; nor certainly could 
a more wTCtched one be pointed at than was 
Augusta. She was left with her bitter reflections, 
and her exceedingly sjinpathetic brother to his 
own chagrin. The contempt with which Mark 
treated him only served to add to the unpalata- 
bleness of his thoughts. 

Thus is it, that maniage is made quite as of- 
ten to go by fortune as by favor. The true heart 
at last obtained its recompense. We always re- 
joice when it does. 



[Written for GleaBon's Pictorial.} 
TO A ROSEBUD. 



BX C. JILLSON. 



Thou art smiling, gentle rosebud, 

Like a fair and artless child ; 
And thy looks betoken pleasure free 

From care or sorrow wild ; 
But thy moments fast are fleeting, 

For within a single day 
Blushing tints will glow ^\ith grandeur, 

And at evening fade away. 

Kings and nobles love thy beauty, 

And admire thy fragrance sweet ; 
Maidens clasp thee to their bosoms, 

And thy brief existence greet. 
But they seldom know the meaning 

Of thy blushes or decay ; 
Scarce beheving they may perish, 

And like rosebuds fade away. 

POLISH HEROIS3I. 

At the storming of Warsaw, the principal bat- 
tery was only defended by two battalions, but 
with .such bravery as history can hardly parallel. 
AVhen it was evident that it could no longer hold 
out, several privates of the artillery seated them- 
selves on powder barrels and blew themselves up. 
But the conduct of General Sowinski was truly 
heroic : having lost one foot he was, at his ear- 
nest request, seated on a chair, and placed on 
the altar of the desperately defended church, 
where he continued to give orders until the last 
of his comrades was cut down, when, drawing 
forth two pistols, he with one shot a Russian who 
was rusliiug upon him, and with the exclama- 
tion, " So dies a Polish general !" fired the other 
into his own heai't. — Hislory of Poland. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
TO A KISS. 

llumid seal of soft affection, 

Tcnderest pledge of future bliss ; 
Dearest tie of young connection, 

Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss ; 
Speaking silence, dumb confession, 

Passion^s birth, and infant play ; 
Dovelikc fondness, chaste concession, 

Glowing dawn of brighter day. , 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 

^^Tien lingering lips no more must join ; 
1\niat words can ever speak affection 

So thrilling, so sincere ns thine. 

As there is no prosperous state of life without 
its calamities, so there is no advcrsi*y without its 
benefits. 



60 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DllAAVING 110(JM (COMPANION. 



TIIK VICTORIA Ri:«IA. 

In 1801, Iliciu'kc, tliG celebrated botanist, 
discovered, near tlie river Amazon, in South 
Amoriea, the most marvellous plant the imng- 
iiiation can conceive of. It was evidently a 
iilunt rcsiinblin^ our nenuphar, or pond lily, 
nut its^ij^autic pro])ortions j^ave it the appear- 
ance of' a dream. In fact each of its leaves, 
floatinp; on tho water, was not less than five 
feet across, some even beinp; of (greater diam- 
eter. The I)lossoms, at first white, but when 
in full bloom showing a briglit rose-colored 
centre, were twelve inches in diameter. These 
plants covered 11 sort of pond for more than 
a quarterof a Icugue. ILcncke, seized with 
ndiniiation, fell upon his knees in the bottom 
of his boat. lie died in the course of his trav- 
els, and Iiis notes were not arranged till a 
lonfj time after his death. In 1819 M. do 
Bonpland, in his tour, had found the Victoria 
Kcgia at Paraguay. He sent some of tho 
seeds to Europe, but they did not germinate. 
It seemed that llicncke's plant differed some- 
what fi'om M. IJonpland's. Thus the plant 
seen by M. Bonpland has leaves green on 
both sides, while that of^ Hscncke had the 
nndcr side of tho leaf of a violet purple. 
Hence a great noise, because M. d'Orbigny, 
who had met M. Bonpland's plant, in 1827, 
on the frontiers of Paraguay, gave it the name 
of Victoria Cruziana, and the same year sent 
to tlic museum of Paris a drawing of it with 
diicd flowers and leaves, while lie did not find 
ILcncke's plant till 1833, one year after Pccp- 
pig had met it, and given it the name of Eu- 
ryale Amazonica, instead o( Aluriiru, by which 
it was known among the natives. In the 
year 1837, Sir Robert Schomburg, while exploring English 
Guiana, sent a portrait of the same plant, Hrenckc's, to England, 
designating it an the Ni/mphtra Victorm. In 1847, Mr. E.Gray 
described it in the "^Botanic Journal," under the name of Victoria 
Regina. Three months later, Doctor Lindley published Sir Rob- 
ert Schombiu'g's drawings, and baptized the plant Victoria Regia. 




■which wins the race, across the winning post 
a thread is stretched, di|)ped in red lead, 
which, the victor breaking it, leaves a red 
mark on his chest, and this red mark is de- 
cisive. To guard the course, a great number 
of Roman soldiers under arms were arranged 
on each side of it, from one end to the other. 
The morning after the first race, I was silting 
with the governor, when a message arrived 
from the general, requesting that tlie race 
might be deferred till another day, as he 
tiiought the weather too cold to put tlie troops 
under ann.^. The governor replied to him : 
' That as the weather was not too cold for the 
ladies, he thought it was not too cold for the 
Roman soldiers.' I have seen on a day which 
threatened rain a guard of Romans turn out, 
every one of whom had an unibi'clla under 
his arm, the drummer and filer alone excepted. 



GLISS HOUSE FOR THL ^^CTORI V REGIA, AT GHENT 

HORSE RACING IN ITAIiY. 

The following description of horse racing in Italy, is taken 
from M'Gill's travels : " The Iiorses run witliout riders, and, to 
urge them on, little halls with sharp points in them are hung to 
their sides, which, when the horse is employed in the race, act 
like spurs. They have also pieces of foil fastened on their hinder 



THE i;i»AS TREE. 

We published some time since an account 
of the discovery of a tree on the Isthmus of 
I'anama, having many of tlie characteristics 
of the noted Upas tree of tlic ]']ast, as it is 
destructive to all animal and vegetable life 
that comes within its baneful influence. A 
number of the Panama Herald, received by a 
late arrival, has the following additional no- 
tice of this singular vegetable production : 
" Riding out upon the 'Plains ' a few miles 
fi-oni the city the other day with a friend, we 
had the fortune to have several of these trees 
pointed out to us. As far around each as its 
branches extended, the ^rass was dead — the 
ground almost bare, whilst all beyond was 
fresh and green. Each tree seemed to form 
a circle around it by the appearance presented by the dead and 
live grass. They were all alike in this respect, and the trees all 
of the same appearance and character. Occasionally the skull 
of a dead mule or other animal was to be found lying eitlier di- 
rectly under the tree, or nearby, indicating the effects of its deadly 
poison. Anxious as we felt to procure a branch and bring it to 





THE LILY BEFORE OPENING. 



THE LILY IN FULL FLOWER. 



Mr. Gray took umbrage. Hooker asked that it should be called 
Victoria Regince for analogical reasons. Mr. Somcrby claimed 
the name of Victoria Ainazonina, to conciliate it with the name 
given by Poeppig. M. d'Orbigny had previously published his 
claims in the " Echo of the Learned World." War was kindled 
— a great deal of ink was shed, but yet the plant did not reach 
Europe. In 1837 Mr. Robert Schomburg had sent roots, 
which died upon the passage. In 1846, Mr. Bridges, a cele- 
brated collector, went expressly to collect the seeds, and 
brought them home in a jar filled with moist earth. The 
Kew gardens bought twenty-five of them — two only of them 
germinated, but the young plants perished almost immedi- 
ately. In 1848 an English physician sent home both plants 
and seeds. The roots arrived rotted, and the seeds did not 
germinate. In 1849 some English people living at George- 
town clubbed together and sent out an expedition of Indi- 
ans, who brought them back thirty-five roots of the marvel- 
lous plant — but the thirty-five roots all perislied. Finally, 
two physicians, Messrs. Rodie and Luekie, sent some seeds 
to the Kew Gardens. These seeds, transported in little 
vials of pure water, arrived on the 28th of February, 1849. 
On the 23d of March following, six plants were up and doing 
well. One of these six plants, transplanted and cultivated at 
Chatsworth, the residence of the Duke of Devonshire, flow- 
ered the 8th of November, 1849. A second flowered on the 
Duke of Northumberland's estate on the 10th of April, 1850. 
Finally, a plant from one of the Chatsworth seeds, was sent 
to Mr. Van Houtte, the celebrated cultivator of Ghent, on 
the 26th of May, IS.'iO, and flowered for the first time on tlie 
5th of September of the same year. This account is taken 
from the complete history of the Victoria Regia, just pub- 
lished by the " Flora of European Green-houses and Gar- 
dens." This work contains a full description of the crys- 
tal palace that Mr. Van Houtte constructed for his fair 
guest, and the apparatus for heating and cultivating the 
Victoria Rejria. Tlie glass ought to have a temperature of 
28 degi-ces (Centigrade), which the sun raises to 35, and the 
water a warmth of 29 or 32 degrees (Centigrade). An en- 
tire volume is devoted to the Victoria Regia. With the in- 
structions contained, any one can easily establisli a glass, 
and commence the cultivation of this regal flower. Unfor- 
tunately the amusement is costly, and few individuals are 
likely to incur tlie expense. Wt hope, however, that the 
Massachusetts Horticultural Society will make the experi- 
ment. It is something they owe to their well-established 
reputation. 



parts, which, as the animal rashes through the air, makes a loud 
rustlino; noise, and frightens tliem forward. I was much amused 
at the horse races at Ancona. A gun is fired when they first start, 
that preparations may be made to receive them at the ofher end. 
When they have run halfway, another gun is fired, and a third 
when they have arrived at the goal. To ascertain without dispute 




the city that its fluids might be subjected to a chemical analysis, 
we were deterred by the threatening appearance they presented. 
We have no doubt as to the nature of the tree being as poisonous 
as the deadly Upas of Java, long celebrated for its poisonous 
qualities, which, however, have been very much exaggerated. 
This latter tree belongs to the urticece, the same natural family 
with the nettle, mulberry and bread-fruit. It attains large 
dimensions, and is often more than a hundred feet in height, 
with a trunk six feet in diameter at the base. The bark is 
smooth and whitish ; the wood white ; the leaves caduceous, 
and often crisped. The juice flows abundantly on incision, 
is very viscous, bitter, yellowish, if from the trunk, but white 
if taken from the younger branclies. The emanations from 
this tree are dangerous to certain individuals, while, as in 
the poison sumach, others are not the least affected by them. 
Fioni the juice is prepared the frightful Upas poison. That 
obtained from this tree, however, acts in a different manner, 
and not so quickly as the Upastieiite. This last is the pro- 
duct of a species of sfri/chnos, from the same countiy, a vine 
which ascends to the summits of the highest trees. The 
root is woodv, and about the size of a man's arm." 



THE UNDER PART OF THE LEAF. 



MUSICAL COFFEE POTS. 

Two weeks ago we awoke, on a bright morning, and 
heard such liquid notes as made us look with infinite disre- 
gard upon the brick and mortar erections which fro\vn upon 
us, giraficly, from all parts of this dusty city. At first we 
CimsidiTcd that tiic wood-nymphs of some orange grove in 
the far sunny South had benignly rcco<;ni7.cd the soce wants 
of us cold Northerners, and had straightway dispatched 
scores of winged messengers, as prophets uf summer's com- 
ing delights. Our bed became suddenly distasteful to us — 
■\^ e sprang up — listened ; a full chorus of bob-o'hnks, robins 
and yellow birds greeted us in rich melodic variety ! We 
advanced to the window — our eye wandered far and near, in 
greedy hope of catching a glimpse of the feathered warblers, 
and we were on the point of sinking into a state of uncom- 
fortable disappointments, fancying that it was one of those 
strnn^a' kinds of music sometimes heard from within our 
mysterious being and then suddenly leaving us, when lo ! 
perched upon a fence close to our dwelling, were two ragged 
urchins, attached to whose mouths were miniature leaden 
coffee-pots, out of the spouts of which came the rare music. 
Our Johnny considers this the great discovery of the age, 
and we " discover" every morning, now-a-days, a shrill and 
feeling confirmation of the opinion. — Musical World. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOI^I COMPANION. 



61 




rREDEEICK GLEASOX, Pkopkietor. 

MAIUKIN M. BALLOU, Eiitob. 

.^.■^"'.•^■-■'.'.-.■■.■V"..T.^-T,-^-V'->.'>.'^---.\"^\'>.->.-\,T._-l,V't%.^-,.->.--.-V"l.T-V V- 

CONTENTS OF OUR NEXT NUMBER. 

"The Young Philosopher, a sketch for parents," a 
story, by Sylvakos Cobb. 

" Gen. ■\Vinfield Scott," an incident in the days of the 
Canadian ReboLlion, by Geo. S. U.\y.«ond. 

"Isabella,"' a story, by Eva Milford. 

" Tlie Victim of Temptation," a prose eketch, by Mrs. 
E. Wellmoxt. 

" Presumption," Terses, by Wm. T. Hilsee. 

" Attendant Angels," verses, by W. A, t'OGG. 

" Humble Worth," verses, by Joseph Comer. 

" Lines to Miss Augusta Eaton." 

" Death at Sunset," verses, by Lelia Mortimeii. 

"Letters," verses, by Edward Ashton. 

" Ode to America," by Chas. II. Stewart. 

" Lines to the late Hon. Henry Clay." 

" The Woods," verses, by Joseph H- Butler, 

ILLTJSTItATIONS. 

We shall give our readers a fine picture of the Farm 
School, Thompson's Island, Boston Harbor, sketched by 
our artist, Mr. Mad-ry. 

A second series of cuts relating to Niagara Falls, and a 
most admirable set it will be, embracing, first, a grand 
view of the Falls from the American side, a most original 
and striking engraving ; second, a view of the factories ; 
third, a grand and magnificent view of the Falls on the 
Canada side of the river ; fourth, an admirable picture of 
that wonder, only second to Niagara itself, the Suspension 
Bridge across the immense span, and directly over the 
rapid and deep running river ; fifth, the Light House ; 
sixth and closing scene of the series will represent the 
Grand Rapids, and the Horse Shoe Falls. 

A large and magnificent engraving will be given, cover- 
ing an entire page of the Pictorial, representing the Ite- 
ception of the Hon. Daniel Webster in Boston, July 9th, 
1852. by his fellow-citizens. This fine picture is by our 
artist, Mr. Rowse^ and represents the procession and cor- 
tege in all its splendor and most striking effect. 

A1.S0 a second scene illustrative of the same event, by 
our artist, Mr. Manning, representing the ceremony on 
Boston Common, where Mr. Webster was formally wel- 
comed. 

A picture representing the remains of Henry Clay lying 
in state at New York, as visited by thousands upon 
thousands of the citizens of that city, by our artist, Mr. 
Ckapui. 

Also a fac-simile of the metallic Burial Case for the re- 
mains of the illustrious st!it<^man and beloved citizen, 
also by Mr. Chapin. 

An interesting representation of the Dagger lately man- 
\ifactured as a present for the Sable Emperor, Faustin 
I., of Haj-ti, a very admirable picture, by our artist, Mr. 
Wade. 

We shall present a fine picture of Fetridge & Co.'s 
Periodical Depot, Washington street, 

A likeness mil be given of that queer and antique 
specimen of humanity, the late Lord Timothy Dexter. 



THE CINCINNATI AGENCY. 

In answer to numerous inquiries as to the 
agency of our paper in Cincinnati, we would say 
to all that Mr. R. E. Edwards is not our an:ent, 
and no business is transacted for this establish- 
ment by him. Persons desiring our publications 
in that city, or the State of Ohio generally, 
should apply to A. C. Bagley, No. 10, West 
Third St., who will answer all orders promptly 
and konorahlif. "We may have more to say in a 
future number relative to our Cincinnati agency. 



SPLIXTEKS. 



The Bostonians have been wilting under 

some tremendous hot weather. 

.... The Webster reception was certainly 
ahead of everything of the sort yet got up. 

The American yacht, Truant, has beaten 

three Liverpool yachts already. 

The Mayor of Cincinnati fined a po- 
liceman, lately, $9, for gambling on Sunday. 

The Boston Post is the fairest and most 

respected party journal in the country. 

We regret to see that the cholera is 

raging at St. Louis and throughout the AVcst. 

.... Uncle Tom's Cabin has had a large sale, 
but the book is a perfect " mush." 

Can any body tell whether the " bottom 

is out" of Vermont Central or not ? 

.... Twenty years is said to be the average 
age of the graduates of Harvard College. 

.... Our friends in Canada complain sadly 
of the want of rain for vegetation. 

.... The thermometer is usually highest at 
two o'clock in the afternoon. 

The ISr. T. Herald talks about Mr. Web- 
ster's taking Mr. Lawrence's place at London. 

.... Several persons in this vicinity have 
lately died of sun stroke. Hot weather this. 

The Scotch hoast a line of one hundred 

and fifteen kings who reigned 2000 years. 

.... Hungary, without the provinces annexed, 
contains a population of 7,864,562. 



GOLD! GOLD! 

The abundant discover)- of this precious metal 
in California seems to have been only the pre- 
sage to its development as indigenous to various 
other parts of the world. It is but about four 
years since our auriferous treasures were first 
brought to light ; and within less than a year 
the colonics of New Soutli Wales and Victoria 
have each shipped about one million's wortli of 
gold, or two millions' wonli in all, ($10,000,000.) 
And when it is considered that this has been the 
product of unskilled mining, of labor untrained 
to the peculiar employment, untaught by sci- 
ence, unsustaiued by capital; that the number of 
diggers has ever home the most insignificant 
proportion to the extent and richness of the 
field, and that every day new regions of aurifer- 
ous deposits are foimd in almost every part of 
the interior, to the north and to the south, as 
well as to the west, some estimate as to what 
Australia is to achieve hereafter, may be formed. 

This million of gold produced in New South 
Wales has been gatliered without any serious 
detriment to other interests, says a Sydney pa- 
per, and with the least possible disturbance to 
public order and tranquillity. Our com fields 
have still been cultivated, our sheep have still 
been shorn. Our metropolitan city remains a 
busy scene of commerce, and stately buildings 
arc rising up in her streets. Our mining opera- 
tions have assumed the character of settled in- 
dustry ; our gold is collected without bustle or 
confusion, and securely carried to mai'ket by tlie 
regularly established government escorts, at 
moderate expense to proprietors ; while the 
quantities brought to town and shipped for ex- 
portation, are reported in the newspapers as 
well as those of any other of our raw produc- 
tions. The admirable order which has all 
along been maintained at our diggings, not by 
military restraint, but by the good sense and 
moral rectitude of a great mass of the diggers 
themselves, is indeed a just cause of pride. 

A ^^gorous stream of emigration, according 
to the last news received from thence, was 
setting in from California and the South Sea 
Islands, and hundreds of American diggers 
might be seen walking the streets of Sydney, 
working towards the gold regions. The new 
settlement of Canterbury was deserted ; Wel- 
lington and Auckland were nearly in the same 
condition, and at Van Diemen's Land a similar 
result was expected. Elour was down to from 
£10 to X12 per ton, retail, and several tons from 
Chili had been sold by the cargo as low as £1 
10s. Meat, tea, sugar, and other articles of do- 
mestic consumption were abundant and cheap. 
The agricultural interests had not suffered — ■ 
neither had the pastoral interests, especially in 
the Sydney district— but at Port Philip labor 
vras getting extremely scai-ce, and it was feared 
that shepherds' wages in Port Philip would run 
up to an unprecedentedly high rate. In short, 
the same eftects are produced as resulted from 
the discoveries in California, and by-and-by 
Australia will settle down into the same un- 
ruffled condition of prosperity that has already 
begun to characterize our young State on the 
Pacific. But what is to be the ultimate result of 
throwing such an immense amount of gold into 
circulation is more than the wisest can exactly 
foresee. 

Vekt singular. — A wild man has been said 
to be roaming thi'ough the great Mississippi bot- 
tom, in the State of Arkansas. Numerous trav- 
ellers and hunters have asserted that they have 
seen him, but none have ever been able to get 
near enough to give particulars concerning this 
strange being. The creatui-e is said unmistak- 
ably to be a hiunan being, over seven feet high, 
but with all tlie shyness and habits of a wild 
animal. 



The Platfobm. — Editors are strange peo- 
ple, and have sometimes an odd way of ex- 
pressing themselves. One says that the Balti- 
more platfonns are like feather beds. They are 
not fit to stand on, but excellent to Ue upon. 



Profitable. — It is said that Mr. J. Heritage, 
of Burlington county, N. J., received this year 
Sl,000 from an acre and a half of ground plant- 
ed with strawberries. 



Big Sum. — The income of the city of Edin- 
burgh, from its property, is about two and a 
half millions of dollars a year. 

Fine Arts. — The great Murillo painting of 
the Conception, is to be engraved in the highest 
stvle of art in France. 



BLIND ASYLUM, SOUTH BOSTON. 

Our artist has presented for us on page G4, a 
perfect delineation of this noble charitable insti- 
tution. The building in Pearl Street, Boston, 
originally conveyed to the trustees of the institu- 
tion by Col. T. H. Perkins, of this city, for the 
use of the asjdum, in the year 1833, was after- 
wards exchanged for the present building on 
Mount Washington, South Boston. The actual 
extent of the grounds belonging to the institu- 
tion is about one acre. 

The pupils in the school are taught reading, 
writing, arithmetic, geography, history, natural 
jihilosophy, natural history, and physiology. 
They are carefully instructed in the theory and 
practice of vocal and instrumental music. Be- 
sides this they are taught some handicraft work 
by which they may earn tlieir livelihood. In 
this institution, for the first time in the world's 
history, successful attempts were made to break 
through the doitble walls in which Blind-Deaf- 
Mutes are immured, and to teach thera a sys- 
tematic language for communion with their fel- 
low-men. Laura Bridgman and Oliver Caswell 
are living refutations of the legal and popular 
maxim that those who are born both deaf and 
blind must be necessarily idiotic. They are pio- 
neers in the way out into the light of knowledge, 
which may be followed by many others. 

In 1844, a supplementary institution grew out 
of the parent one, for the employment in handi- 
craft work of such blind men and women as 
could not readily find employment at home. 
This establishment has been highly successful. 
A spacious and convenient workshop has been 
built at South Boston, to which the workmen 
and women repair every day, and ai-e furaished 
with work, and paid all they can earn. 

The general course and history of the Perkins 
Institution has been one of remarkable success. 
It has always been under the direction of one 
person. It has grown steadily in public fiivor, 
and is the means of extended usefulness. In 
1832 it was an experiment; it had but six pupils; 
it was in debt, and was regarded as a visionaiy 
enterprise. In 1833 it was taken under the pa- 
tronage of the State ; it was patronized by the 
wealthy, and enabled to obtain a permanent local 
habitation and a name. 

The terms of admission are as follows : the 
children of citizens of Massachusetts, not abso- 
lutely wealthy, //ee; others, at the rate of S160 
a year, which covers all expenses except for 
clothing. Applicants must be under 16 years of 
age. Adults are not received into the institution 
proper, but they can board in the neighborhood, 
and be taught trades in the workshop gratuitous- 
ly. After six months they are put upon wages. 
This department is a self-supporting one, but its 
success depends upon the sale of goods, at the 
depot. No. 20, Bromfield Street. Here may be 
found the work of the blind ; all warranted, and 
put at the lowest market prices ; nothing being 
asked or expected in the way of charity. The 
institution is not rich, except in the confidence of 
the public, and the patronage of the legislature. 



Preserve tour Numbers. — Let us remind 
our subscribers, thus early in the volume, of the 
importance of preserving their numbers for bind- 
ing. After you have your volume complete, let 
it be remembered that we bind it with gilt edge, 
gilt back, and illumined sides, in the most 
perfect and durable form, for one dollar. By 
preserving your numbers, a beautiful and valu- 
able volume may be thus secured. 



Interesting. — One of the workmen at Low- 
ell Island recently found a pine tree shilling, one 
of those venerable relics of the early days of 
Massachusetts, in the old hulk of a vessel which 
lies upon the beach near the steamboat landing. 
On one side is the inscription, " New England, 
An. Dom. 1652 — xii." On the other is a pine 
tree, sm'rounded by the word " Massathvsets." 



Good Return. — ^A gardener, near Boston, has 
already received fourteen hundred dollars for 
strawberries sold this season in Quincy Market. 
They were grown on a seven-acre lot, and the 
earliest and best netted him four dollars a box. 



Good. — Dr. Beman, of Troy, remarked in a 
sennon lately, that if Franklin tamed the light- 
ning, Professor Morse taught it the English lan- 
guage. 



Come. — The " seventeen year locusts" have 
made their appearance in Connecticut. 



New Church. — The Catholics of Ports- 
mouth, N. H., are about erecting a church. 




In this city by Rev. Mr, Miner, Mr. Joseph Elandren to 
Miss Mary F. Emmons. 

By Kev. Mr. Fox, Mr. Charles Andrews to Miss Julia 
Seavy, 

By William Palfrey. Esq., Mr. Andrew J. Locke, of 
Portsmouth, N. H , to Miss Caroline A. Haye,'. 

By Rev. Mr. Streeter, Mr. John G. Walton to Miss 
Mar>' E. Fos.';. 

Bv Bishop Eastbum, Mr. Lonis F, Baker, of New York, 
to ISWss Helen E. Wright. 

By James C. Merrill, Jr. EKq.,Mr. PaulSchulze to Miss 
Mary Augustien. 

At Charle.stown, by Rev. Mr. Caldicott, Mr, George 
Melcher to Miss Caroline E. Wiley. 

At Salem, by Rev. Dr. Emerson, Mr. .Tames G. Blake to 
Miss Adehne 0. Gray, both of Boston. 

At Lowell, by Rev. 3Ir. Eddy, Mr. John L. Moses to 
Miss Mary B. Kidder. 

At Dracut, by Rev. Mr. Thompson, Mr. William A. 
Web.ster to Miss Electa Foster. 

At Andover, by Samuel Johnson, Esq., Mr. Ebenezer 
L. Hatch to Miss Roxunna Hunt. 

At New Bedford, by Rev. Mr. Van Campen, Mr. Benja- 
min F. Lewis to Miss Louisa A. Bearse. 

At Taunton, by Rev. Mr. Maltby, Mr. James Nield to 
Miss Hannah Barton, 

At AVest Springlield, Mr, John Avery, of Holyofce, to 
Miss Harriet J. Brooks. 

At Fairhaven, by Rev. Mr. Houghton, Mr. Nathan 
Sherman to Miss CaroUne M, Paine, both of Rochester. 

At Wiscas.set, Me., Capt. Albert J, Averell, of San 
Francisco, to Miss vVnna B. Foote. 




In this citv, Mrs. Betsey Ridgway, 66 ; Mrs. Charlotte 
White. 35 ; Mr. John Laggon, 53 ; Mr. Daniel Weld, 79 ; 
Mrs. Lucy Ann Allen Phippen, 35. 

At South Boston, Mr. James McKenney, 39. 

At Chelsea, Mr. Asa Porter, 27. 

At Cambridgeport, Frances T.. child of Mr. J. Eaton, 11. 

At Cambridge, Mr. Edward WeBington, 22. 

At Brighton, Charles H., son of Mr. J. F. White, 11. 

At Dorchester, Mrs. Mary E. Hood, 22. 

At Newburyport, Miss Mary Nelson, 94. 

At Beverly, Mrs. Anna Cressy, 56. 

At Worcester, Mrs. Alona D. Mirick, 31. 

At Sutton, Mr. John W. Merse, 22. 

At New Bedford, Mr. William M. Rickerson, 20. 

At OakhJim, Mr. Archibald H. Ware, 46. 

At Spencer, Mr. Elias Hall, 73. 

At New Boston, N. H., Mrs Alice Daggett, 81. 

At lUndge, N. H., Mrs. Sarah Payson Barker, 76. 

At Windham, N. H., Miss Emeline A. Simpson, 30. 

At Providence, R. I., Mr. Peleg W. Gardner, Jr., 25. 

At Foster, R. I.. Mr. Peter Hopkins. 98. 

At Portland, 5Ie.. Mrs. Sarah H. Elder, 44. 

At Parsonsfield, Me., Mr. John Fenderson, 96. 

At Avigusta, Me., Mi-s. Marv F. Day, 28. 

At Burlington, Vt.. Mr Rvfield Pierce, 88. 

At New York. Mr. D. Temple Knowlton, 28. 

At St. Louis, Mrs Ehzabeth Renou, 42. 

At New Orleans, Mr. Alvin Wetherby, 48. 

At San Francisco, Mr. Warren Kingman, 44, 

At Carthage, Texas, Mr. William Eaton, 33. 

At St, Helena, Mr. Edward A. H. Dale, of Boston, 22. 



AND 

LITERAKY WEEKLY JOURKAL. 



GLEASOVS PICTOEIAL 

jDrrtwtitg^Uootit (Jloin^rtittOiT, 

A Hecord of the beautiful and use/id in Art. 

The object of tliis paper is to present, in the most elegant 
and available form, a weekly literary melange of notable 
events of tlie day. Its columns are devoted to original 
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Sketches of beautiful scenery, taken from life, will also be 
given, with numerous specimens from the animal king- 
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printed on fine satin-surface paper, from a font of now 
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fund of amusement it alTords, and the rich array of origi- 
nal miscellany it presents, to inculcate the strictest and 
highest tone of morality, and to encourage virtue by hold- 
ing up to view all that is good and pure, and avoiding all 
that is evil in its tendency. In short, the object U to 
make the jiapor loved, respected, .ind sought after for its 
combined excellencies. 

TEEMS: $2 00 PEE VOLUME. 

OR, S4 00 PER ANNUM 

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Each sis months completes a volume, comm.cncing on 
the frit of January and July ; thus making two volumes 
per year, of four hundred and sixteen pages each. 

[C?^ One copy of the Flag op our Unioiv, and occ copy 
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obtained at any of the periodical depots tiirougiout the 
country, and of nov.-snien, at ltn ccn!s per .single top/ 

Published ever/ S.\.TL":;aAy. by 

F. GLEASON, Eosrox, Mass. 

WHOLESALE AGENTS, 

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62 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COlNfP ANION. 



LWritton for Olonaon's Pictorial.] 
CVVRKIE IVEI^. 

BY BYDNBV B. OIIOROK. 

Memories of pnst iliiyn como oVr mc, 

Thoy iiro hiiiI to toll ; 
And mcthinks who's now before mo, 

■\Vhoiii I lovoil HO well. 
Ah, those days ivitli joy wore laden, 

Deepest joy to me, 
For there wan a little maiden, 

Gentle Carrie Ijco. 

Ah, she tripped at Bunsot's glowing, 

By the river's side, 
Loving well to hear the flowing 

Of its rushing tide. 
Gave sho there one summer oven, 

All her love to me ; — 
Angel now ; for dwells in heaven 

Lovely Carrie Leo. 

Suroly her young heart was lighter 

Tlian should long he hero ; 
Suroly her pure aoul was brighter 

Than those to her near. 
Ah, the moments pass but slowly, 

Sad are they to mc. 
For sweet i-oses kiss the lowly 

Grave of Carrie Lee. 
1 ^■— > 

[Written for Gleaaon's Pictorial.] 

WORKS OF LOVE. 

BY MRS. S. P. DOUGHTY. 

" Where is tliat pretty little seamstress, with 
whom I was so much pleased tlie last time I vis- 
ited you^" inquired Aunt Hannah of her niece, 
Maiy Graham, as they seated themselves before 
a glowing fire on the morning after the good 
lady's arrival for her annual Christmas visit. 

"Lucy Somers you mean," replied Mrs. Gra- 
ham. " She left me about six months ago. I am 
sorry to tell you tliat I heard unfavorable reports 
concerning her early life, wliich appeared too 
well founded, and I tliought it my duty to dis- 
miss her. She was an industrious, modest little 
thing, and I pitied her most sincerely ; but on 
my children's account, you know, it would never 
answer to have kept her. I am told, upon good 
authority, that she was ai-rested as a common 
thief, and only liberated from motives of com- 
passion for her youth and helpless condition. 
Shocking, is it not V 

" Very sad, certainly," was the reply ; " but 
did you carefully inquire into the circumstances, 
Maiy ? The facts of the case might have ex- 
tenuated her fault." 

" Impossible, Aunt Hannah ! Wliat circum- 
stances could excuse or palliate such an act of 
■wickedness ? I have always regarded theft as 
one of the lowest forms of vice." 

*' The commandment, ' Thou shalt not steal,* 
is a broad one, and involves many meanings," 
returned the elderly lady. " There are few of us 
who understand and keep it as it should be kept. 
The rich generally obey it in its most external 
sense, for they are not tempted to do otherwise. 
They know nothing of the bitter cup of poverty 
—when the poor starving wretch sees those 
around him who are revelling in luxury, and 
feels that if he but extends his hand to take the 
erust which is denied him, he shall be branded 
as a thief. But, in my opinion, he who has abun- 
dance and withholds relief from a suffering fel- 
low-creature is really as guilt}- of theft, as the 
poor man would be, if he took what was thus 
withheld. We are but stewards of the property 
entrusted to our care, and we are plainly com- 
manded to relieve the needy. What right have 
we to neglect this command, and minister only 
to our own selfish gratification 1" 

" There is some truth in what you say. Aunt 
Hannah," replied her niece, thoughtfully ; "but 
it seems to me that you treat the common form 
of theft almost too lightly," 

" Not at all, Mary. I regard it as a deep sin 
against the laws of God and man ; but the 
wretchedly poor are sometimes placed in circum- 
stances when it becomes almost an act of self- 
preservation, and I would have their more fortu- 
nate brethren pause and consider ere they wholly 
condemn them. Do not they, with every want 
supplied, sometimes take from others what is 
justly their own 'i How little does the rich lady 
regard the value of the time of tlie dependent, 
whom she keeps in waiting hour after hour for 
the most frivolous reasons, Avithout considering 
that every moment thus lost, diminishes the little 
Btore which is perhaps to support a lielpless fam- 
ily. You yourself, Mary, are sometimes thought- 
less in this respect. This very morning, when 
Sally told you that the woman you had promised 



to employ in sewing was below, you replied that 
it was not convenient for you to attend to her 
then, she could call again to-morrow. Did it 
occur to you that this woman liud spent her time 
in coming to your house ? — and tliat in this very 
time she might have earned a few pennies to 
purciiase a loaf of bread to relieve the hunger of 
herself or others ''." 

*' She might, indeed," said Mrs. Graham. " It 
is a long walk from the place where she told mc 
she lived, and I have reason to think her in great 
need. I am sorry I was so inconsiderate." 

"Forgive me, Mary, for pressing the point; 
but I am anxious that you should see this matter 
in its true light Supposing by this thoughtless 
act you deprived the poor woman of the profits 
of two or three hours' work, is it not just as 
much taking what is not your own, as if you 
had taken money from her purse V 

"I must allow that it is, Aunt Hannah, and 
the lesson shall not be thrown away upon me. 
But here come the children, quite wild to em- 
brace you. It was so late when you arrived last 
evening that I directed the nursery maid to keep 
the joyful news a secret until after the little folks 
had breakfasted this morning." 

As she spoke, four lovely children ran into 
the room, and springing upon Aunt Hannah, 
nearly devoured her with kisses, to the no small 
detriment of her nicely-plaited cap and handkei'- 
chief. 

"There, darlings, that will do," exclaimed 
the old lady at length, after having warmly re- 
turned their caresses. " Stand up now, and let 
mc see how much you have groAvn since I was 
here before. Why, my dear Mary is a large 
girl, and my sweet little AYillie is no longer a 
baby." 

" And Hannah is a large girl, too," exclaimed 
her curly headed little namesake. "We are so 
glad you have come. Aunt Hannah, and to-mor- 
row will be Christmas. What will Santa Claus 
bring us "? Dear Lucy used to promise me that 
he would bring me a large wax doll, with eyes 
to open and shut, this year ; but now she has 
gone, perhaps no one will put him in mind." 

" And Lucy promised me a new Noah's ark," 
exclaimed Charlie. "Why did she go away, 
mother '? and when will you send for her back ? 
We all loved her so much, and she always told 
us pretty stories when she was sewing." 

" Never mind, Charlie," said the mother, 
soothingly, "Alice can tell pretty stories." 

" But Alice is not half as good as Lucy," re- 
plied the child. " Sometimes she is cross, and 
says things that are naughty ; but Lucy always 
taught us to be good." 

Aunt Hannah looked earnestly at her niece, 
and her eyes sunk beneath that meaning look, 
for she felt that she had too hastily discarded the 
helpless girl from her household. Had she 
allowed herself to inquire into the particulars of 
the story which had been told her, all would 
have been well ; her own good judgment and 
kind feelings would have prompted a different 
course ; but the charge of theft was proved be- 
yond a doubt, not only by substantial evidence, 
but by the silence and confusion of Lucy when 
the cause of her dismissal was stated to her, and 
it never occurred to Mrs. Graham that there might 
be extenuating circumstances. 

How much would her heart have ujahraided 
her, could she have witnessed the despair and 
anguish of that young girl, who at the very time 
when the little ones from whom she had parted 
so sorrowfully some months before were recalling 
proofs of her kindness, was kneeling in almost 
agonizing prayer in one of the most miserable 
rooms of a miserable dwelling in an obscure 
part of the city. The efforts which she had 
made to procure another situation after leaving 
Mrs. Graham were rendered vain from her 
inability to refer those who wished for her ser- 
vices to her last employer ; and quite discour- 
aged, she had resolved to take a room and sup- 
port herself by taking in sewing of different 
kinds. For a while she contrived to earn a bare 
subsistence, but as the cold weather came on 
her expenses increased, and it became more 
difficult to procure work. Naturally timid and 
shrinking in her nature, she dreaded to come in 
contact with the rude and unfeeling ; and though 
willing to work, preferred privation to asking 
employment of those who seemed to regard it 
as only another form of soliciting charity. 

Her physical strength was nearly cxliausted 
by anxiety and want of proper nourishment; 
her mind was distracted by doubts and tempta- 
tions which beset her path ; for alas, the innocent 
and friendless maiden is exposed to many and 



bitter temptations, and at the time of which wc 
arc speaking she liad thrown herself in agony 
upon her knees, and in the fervent language of 
despair poured out her whole heart to Ilim with- 
out wliom not even a sparrow falleth to the 
ground. 

True prayer is never unanswered, and Lucy 
rose from her knees calm and peaceful, while 
hope again sprung ujt in her lieart as slie thought 
of one resource which had never before occurred 
to iier. 

" It was the last gift of my dear mother," she 
said, as she drew an old fashioned but somewhat 
valuable locket from her bosom and gazed long 
and sorrowfully upon what she had hitherto re- 
gax'ded as a sacred relic. " It is hard to part 
with the treasure which I have so long preserved 
as a memento of one so dear," she continued, 
" but the price of it will furnish food and fuel 
until I can finisli the work which I liave en- 
gaged to do ;" and feai-ing that her resolution 
would fail she Iiastily put on her bonnet and pro- 
ceeded to the shop of a jeweller whom slie had 
heard Mrs. Graham mention as an honest man. 
He readily consented to give her the worth 
of the locket, and having received the money she 
was about" leaving the shop, when she was 
startled by the familiar tones of an old lady who 
had entered, and after greeting the polite jew- 
eller as an old acquaintance told him that she 
had called to purchase some little trinkets as 
Christmas gifts for some young friends. 

Lucy stole a timid glance toward the speaker 
and recognized Aunt Hannah whom she had 
seen at Mrs. Graham's the year before. Sho 
had dearly loved her then, but now she was only 
anxious to escape observation, for she knew that 
the kind old lady must have heard of the cause 
of her leaving Mrs. Graham, and, no doubt, re- 
garded her as unworthy of notice. 

But escape was impossible. The recognition 
had been mutual, and with extended hand Aunt 
Hannah came forward to meet her. 

" My dear child," she exclaimed, " I am ti'uly 
glad to find you. I have thought of you day 
and niglit since I heard you had left Mrs. Gra- 
ham. Tell me how you are getting along. You 
look very pale and thin." 

Lucy was so overpowered by the unexpected 
kindness of this address that she could not re- 
strain her tears, and other customers entering, 
Aunt Hannah drew her to a distant part of the 
shop and soon heard enough of her little story 
to convince her that she was really in want. 

" Well, dear," she said at length, as she 
kindly pressed the hand she still held, " this is 
no place for a long talk, but give me directions 
to your present home and I will see you to-mor- 
row and hear all your troubles. In the mean 
time take this to help you along," and she 
slipped a small purse into Lucy's pocket. 

" You are very, very kind," replied the poor 
girl, almost sobbing lier thanks ; " but you will 
find my home a poor i^lacc for a lady to come 
to, and to-morrow is Christmas day, when all 
will be so gay and pleasant at Mrs. Graham's." 
" Never mind that," replied her friend. 
" Christmas day is the very time for works of 
love, and I think it will be one to visit you, 
Lucy." 

"It will, indeed," was the earnest answer; 
and the agitated girl gladly sought her own 
room that she might give vent to the thankful- 
ness with which her heart was filled. Her 
Heavenly Father had indeed watched over her 
and raised up a friend in the hour of need. 

Christmas morning arrived, the joyous greet- 
ings had been exchanged, and the stockings of 
the young folks unpacked with many an excla- 
mation of delight. 

" Christmas is indeed a joyful day," remarked 
Mrs. Graham to Aunt Hannah, as the latter 
entered the apartment where the children were 
assembled with their new treasures, 

"It is indeed delightful," was the reply. "I 
have often thought, dear Mary, that Christmas 
should be strictly devoted to works of love — to 
seeking out and succoring those who arc in dis- 
tress. Surely the anniversary of the day when 
the Saviour of mankind was born into the world 
to lay down his life for sinners could not be bet- 
ter commemorated." 

" There is much truth in wliat you say," re- 
plied Mrs. Graham, thoughtfully ; "but where 
have you been so early, Aunt Hannah ?" she 
added, as she for the first time observed that the 
old lady had on her cloak and bonnet. 

" To sec an old friend of yours, Mary, Lucy 
Somers ; and now if you are at leisure I will re- 
late the touching tale to which I have just lis- 
tened. 



" Several years ago, ere Lucy had attained 
her thirteenth year, her parents who had met 
with many misfortunes and were reduced from 
comparative afllucncc to poverty, removed from 
a distant part of the country to this city, in the 
hope that Mr. Somers would here ohtuiu more 
profitable employment. Shortly after their ar- 
rival he was suddenly removed to the other 
world, leaving Ids wife and child friendless aiul 
alone in a land of strangers. The mother's 
health was exceedingly feeble, and tliough for 
the sake of her orphan girl she endeavored to 
bear up under her aillictions, it was soon evi- 
dent that she must shortly follow her husband to 
the grave. As she became more and more un- 
able to do anything for their sujjport, their wants 
became more pressing, and although Lucy made 
almost superhuman exertions, her feeble sti'cngth 
was insufficient to the task. All that she could 
earn would hardly furnish them witli a shelter, 
and they often suffered severely for food. 

" One cold winter's night Mi'S. Somers seemed 
even more feeble than usual, and Lucy gazed 
upon her until it seemed as if her heart would 
break, for she knew that it was many hours 
since her beloved mother liad tasted food, and 
that they had no means of procuring any. Un- 
able to bear it longer, she stole away from the 
side of the invalid, who had sunk into an uneasy 
slumber, and with a desperate resolution to pro- 
cure food in some way, she rushed into the 
street. The wind was bleak and cold, and the 
poor child was but scantily protected from the 
rude blast. Weeping and shivering she at 
length ventured to pull the bell of a large 
house near which she found herself. Her sum- 
mons was answered by a servant, who left her 
standing in the hall while he went to his mistress 
to ask for relief. AVhile he was absent her at- 
tention was attracted by something bright and 
shining near where she stood. She stooped to 
pick it up and found it to be a valuable ring. 
The first thought was to return it at once ; but 
when the man returned with a harsh refusal to 
her prayer for help, and irritated by the reproof 
of his mistress for having disturbed her, rudely 
pushed the child from the door, the idea of sell- 
ing the ring and thus relieving their distress 
flashed upon her mind, and hardly conscious 
whether she was acting right or ^vl-ong, she 
hastily proceeded to the nearest jeweller and 
offered her treasure for Iiis inspection. The man 
instantly recognized the ring, for he had been 
employed to repair it only a few days previous , 
and suspecting that all -was not right, he de- 
tained Lucy until he could inquire into the cir- 
cumstances. The result was her an-est as a 
thief, but on the following day the touching sim- 
plicity of her manner as she told her little stoiy, 
and her deep grief at the thought of what lier 
mother had suffei-ed during her absence, induced 
some compassionate persons to obtain her re- 
lease. She flew to the miserable dwelling which 
she had left the preceding evening. Meeting a 
poor woman who lived in another room of the 
same tenement she inquired for her mother but 
could gain no information. Her absence had 
not been known by those in the honse. Trem- 
blingly she opened their ovm door. To her sur- 
prise the sufferer lay in the same position in 
which she had left her, apparently still sleeping. 
The weeping child threw herself upon her bosom 
to pour out her griefs, but all was cold and life- 
less. The spirit had departed calmly, peacefully, 
unconscious of the last drop in the already over- 
flowing cup of misery. 

" I need not dwell on the agony of the solitaiy 
orphan, nor need I relate the details of her 
futui'C life. Providence watched over her, friends, 
poor but kind, were raised up who provided for 
her wants, until at length she was led to your 
happy home. You know the result. Your 
harshness, Mary, came near driving her to de- 
struction ; but, thank God, she was withheld. 

"And now," continued Aunt Hannah, " shall 
you be surprised to hear that I have offered her 
a home with me for the present t I need some 
one to wait upon me and nurse me a little in my 
old age, and, if I am not mistaken, Lucy will be 
all that I desire. If you could have seen her 
gratitude when I made the proposal, you would 
have felt sure as I do, that though once misled, 
it was but for a moment ; her heart inclines to 
virtue, and she only needs encouragement, to 
walk in the right path." 

Mrs. Graham was silent. She could not really 
rejoice in the determination of her aunt, but her 
heart was melted by the recital of Lucy's suffer- 
ings, and she felt that to provide a home where 
a poor, friendless child could find rest, was in- 
deecv a work of love. 



GLEASON'S PICTOPdAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



63 



THE BLUD, WOLF AND DEER. 

A Wisconsin paper tells a story of a Wiscon- 
sin hei-oine : A young lady of ftftecn, living at 
Kawlcy's Bay, while walking with anotlicr yonng 
lady, saw a wolf a short distance off, watching 
a deer that he had driven into the lake. With a 
courage rarely equalled, she drove the wolf 
away, and wading into the lake, brouglit the 
deer on shore by the ear ; but after petting him 
a short time, the ungallant fellow made several 
attempts to get away, and finally carried matters 
so far as to knock her down and tear her dress, 
when, becoming justly incensed by such beha- 
viour, she took a stone and dashed out his 
brains, the wolf all the time standing a sliort 
distance off a silent spectator of the fight, in 
which he took no fuither part than by showing 
a formidable row of teeth occasionally, to show 
his disapprobation of her interference. The edi- 
tor adds, in the genuine Hoosier style : It is 
safe enough to predict that if tliis girl lives a 
few years longer she will be able to ivhip her 
weigM in wild cats, out-scrcam the catamount, 
give the young " badger " the heart-ache, and, 
what is better, preside with grace and dignity 
over some "wild, Wisconsin home." 



THE NUNKERIES AGAUV. 

These tombs for the living are on the increase 
in Great Britain. Lough Castle, in Galway, has 
recently been piuxhased by Mi*s. Ball, the 
Abbess of the Loretto Convent, near Dublin, 
and ten of the sisterhood have taken possession. 
Lough Castle was formerly the seat of Viscount 
Grort, and was built at an expense of four hun- 
dred thousand dollars. It has exactly as many 
windows as there ax-e days in the year. Its situ- 
ation upon the banks of Lake Cootre is said to 
be beautiful in the extreme. Castle Hyde, also, 
in the county of Cork, has lately been purchased 
for a similar purpose ; and it was reported tliat 
Cai'dinal Wiseman had bought the Queen's 
Hotel at Cheltenlmm, and designed to convert it 
into a convent. 



THE TURIVER MANIA. 

Since tlie death of Turner, the landscape 
painter, the pictures from his band have greatly 
risen in price, and a large number of " spurious 
Turners " have been manufactured. To such a 
height has the mania risen, that at a recent sale 
of pictui-es iu London, a harbor scene by Tur- 
ner brought more tlian three thousand dollars, 
while better pictures were sold for a few hun- 
dreds. At the same sale, a water drawing of 
Edinburgh, by the same artist, witliout glass or 
frame, sold for a thousand dollars. " To what- 
ever height," says a correspondent, " the Turner 
mania may reach, the public may rest assured 
the supply will be equal to the demand." 



BUTTER, 

The aggregate value of butter produced in the 
United States, is larger than that of wheat. The 
price of good butter has very much increased, in 
the last few yeai-s, and at particular seasons, has 
been exorbitant. Some of the agricultural so- 
cieties iu this State, are recommending that 
greater attention be paid to putting up firkin 
butter, which, as made in the State of New York, 
for the navy, has kept sweetfor two years. Libe- 
ral premiums for the best firkin butter would 
probably produce a better article than is usually 
offered under this name. 



Testimony or akt Atheist refused. — In 
the U. S. Circuit Couxt, AVednesday, Judge 
Sprague refused to allow Walter Hunt, of New 
York, to testify in the Sewing Machine Patent 
case, on the ground that he was an Atheist. 



Howard Athenaeum. — Mr. Henry AVillard, 
of New York, has taken the Howard Athenieum 
for five years, and will open it on the 6th of 
September. Mr. C. R. Thornc is to be stage 
manager. 



Personal. — Hon. William Rufus King, the 
present democratic candidate for the vice presi- 
dency, was a member of Congress from North 
Carolina (of which State he is a native) as far 
back as ISU, some forty-one years ago. 



Remember. — If you can live free from want, 
and have wherewithal to do good, care for no 
more — the rest is but vanitv. 



Mining. — The Lake Superior mines are said 
to be doing an excellent business, and now give 
employment to three thousand persons. 

« — Oi^ fc 

Ga3.— Newbur^-port is to be liglited with gas. 



Ulaiisilre ©atljcrings. 

Bloomers are plenty in Michigan. 
The New Hampsliire State debt is S60,000. 
Mahomet died on the 7th of June, 632. 
Wliatever has been, is — says Carlyle. 
The British Sovereign cannot increase the 
army without the consent of Parliament. 

The Phcenix House, Savannah, Ga., was de- 
stroyed by fire on the 1st inst. 

The office of City Marshal is abolished, and 
that of Chief of Police substituted. 

The proclamation against Popish processions 
had created much excitement in Ii'eland. 

Feargus O'Connor had been taken into custo- 
dy, to be placed in an asylum. 

They say that President Arista, of Mexico, is 
going to make a coup d' etat in the style of Louis 
Napoleon. 

Tlie Connecticut Legislature is engaged in 
making a law which will permit theatrical per- 
formances in that State. 

Cholera has been imported into Highland, 
111., by emigrants. Several old and prominent 
citizens have fallen victims. 

A young man in Maryland took poison and 
died, in consequence of having got the mitten. 
Verdict, heart disease. 

On Tuesday, the lightning sti'uck, set fire to, 
and destroyed Shirley bridge, over Shirley liver, 
on the Fitchburg raUVoad. 

The celebrated cathedral of Noti'e Dame was 
founded and mainly built by the immense for- 
tune of Thibaut, a villanous old miser. 

Winter wheat looks remarkably well in Som- 
erset county, Me., notwithstanding the season 
has been veiy unfavorable. 

Boys in Baltimore cany concealed deadly 
weapons, and use them, too, upon the slightest 
provocation, oftentimes without provocation. 

The Hon. Mary and Emily Hughes, sisters of 
Lord Dinorben, himself of unsound mind, have 
recently been declared imbeciles. 

The supposed designs of Louis 'Napoleon upon 
Belgium were attracting considerable attention 
iu the diplomatic circles of Europe. 

Gen. 0. Hinton, the famous Ohio mail robber, 
has made his escape from California, as the ofli- 
cers from Ohio were in pm'suit of him. 

The number of military land wan-ants issued 
is stated to be 1 1 1 ,000 ; of which 17,000 were 
for 160 acres, 37,000 for 80 acres, and 57,000 for 
40 acres. 

The river Shannon, at luUaloe, recently ebbed 
in so extraordinaiy a manner that salmon, 
eels, etc., were taken iu its bare bed, even by 
children. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe cautions the public 
against a colored impostor who is raising money 
ostensibly to redeem certain slaves. Uncle 
Toms must work cautiously. 

Madame Alboni's last concert in Prance was at 
Versailles, for the benefit of the poor. The re- 
ceipts were 12,000 francs, of which 500 francs 
were from the President alone. 

Peter Paneuil, who built the celebrated hall 
in this city, that bears liis name, was a Ei-ench 
Huguenot, who was banished from Prance by 
an edict against civil and religious liberty. 

Mr. Wm. Sydney Smith, of the British Con- 
sulate at Havana, who has received many de- 
served Iionors for his kindness to the Ameri- 
can prisoners, is now on a visit to the Atlantic 
cities. 

A mechanic in Maysville, Ky., has invented a 
smoothing iron that is heated by a few coals in 
the interior, having a damper to regulate the 
lieat from that of boiling water to a red hot 
glow. 

A street pedler in Cincinnati sold a lady a 
nice silk dress which he had stolen a few hours 
before at her husband's store. The mex'chant 
valued it at thirty-five dollars, and the lady pm*- 
chased it for fourteen. 

A law-suit is now in course at Chateau 
Thierry, France, between rival claimants for the 
chapeau worn by Napoleon in the Russian cam- 
paign, and which hatl fallen into the possession 
of his valet de chamber, M. Eiu-ard. 

St. George Beck was shot and killed on the 
llth ult., at the residence of Col. Van CorE- 
landt, near Croton, by the accidental discbarge 
of an old pistol, a family relic, which had been 
upon the lilirary shelf for at least ten years. 

In the English merchant service, a sailor is 
kept constantly at work on week days, and is 
fined for either washing or wearing foul linen on 
Sunday. He is compelled, however, to "holy 
stone " the decks half the day every Sabbath ! 

By a fire that occurred in Clough's great 
printing establisliment, in London, the entire 
edition of the Illustrated Catalogue of the great 
Exhibition, together with Knight's illustrated 
edition of Shakspeare, were destroyed. The 
loss is estimated at £50,000. 

The French papers report the deatli of the 
most eminent of the modern sculptors of France 
— M. Pradier, aged fifty years. His end was 
sudden and affecting, while wandering witli his 
young daughter and a party of friends on a day's 
excursion amid the beauties of Bougival. 

At Portland, John H. Bond was cut in two 
by a circular saw ; and at the Maine wharf 
ferry, James S. Gould, Custom House bo.atman, 
was severely hurt by the fall of a derrick, and 
several Custom House officers came near leav- 
ing vacant places. 



JTorciqn Ulisrcllann. 



Another revolt has broken out in Algeria. 

The desert railroad progresses favorably. 

Mr. Leslie has resigned the professorship of 
painting at the Royal Academy. 

There are nine hundred children in a single 
work-liousc in Limerick. 

Great inundations have happened iu the south 
of France. 

The tobacco monopoly is continued for eleven 
years longer. 

Gen. Lamoriciere was summarily expelled by 
the police from Aix la Chapelle, whither he had 
gone for the benefit of his health. 

Rogers, the banker-poet, has a Bank of Eng- 
land note, for one million pounds, framed and 
glazed, hanging upon the wall of his drawing- 
room. 

A proclamation has been issued by the queen, 
prohibiting the public exercise of Roman Ca- 
tholic ceremonies elsewhere than in places of 
worship. 

Mr. Archer, an American, is the inventor of 
an improved process of manufactui-ing postage 
stamps, which, after a long delay, has just been 
adopted by the English government. 

We find tliat there are at present one thousand 
booksellers of all classes in London, and two 
thousand six hmidred and fifty-one iu all Ger- 
many. 

U. S. frigate Susquehannah and sloop Sarato- 
ga were at Hong Kong. The foimer is waiting 
for the new commodore. When he arrives, it is 
expected she will proceed to Manilla. 

At the Pnissian Industrial Exhibition, Count 
Renard, a large proprietor of iron works, exhibits 
sheet iron of such a degi'ce of tenuity that the 
leaves can be used for paper. 

The Earl of Malmesbuiy announced in the 
House of Lords, recently, that the government 
had determined to suspend for the present the 
bill for the extradition of French criminals. 

During the church holidays it is quite usual 
for the Londoners to visit the British Museum. 
On Whit-Monday there had been 35,000 visitors ; 
but on one occasion there were 60,000 in a single 
day ! 

The greater part of Bosnia Scrvia, the capital 
of Bosnia, was dcsti-oj'ed by fire on the 23d of 
May. During the conflagration, the troops com- 
mitted the most abominable acts of rapine and 
pillage. 

From Lisbon accounts are to tlic llth. The 
American ship"Cohamy" was receiving her 
cargo ot salt at St. Ubes, the military having 
suppressed all resistance on the part of the 
monopolists. 



0anii0 of ©olir. 



.... A principle of unity, without a subject of 
unity, cannot exist. 

Little minds rejoice over the enors of 

men of genius, as the owl rejoices at an eclipse. 

.... Tlie true end of freedom is to develop 
manhood and and womanhood, not to make an- 
thors, mechanics or statesmen. 

.... The man has no more excuse who lays 
violent hands upon the life of a tree, than he who 
strikes a woman. — Herald. 

Whatever situation in life you ever wish 

or propose for yourself, acquire a clear and lucid 
idea of the inconveniences attending it. 

.... It is better to be bom with a disposition 
to sec things on the favorable side, than to an 
estate of ten tliousand a year. 

.... Reserve is no more essentially connected 
with understanding, than a church organ with 
devotion, or wine with good nature. 

.... Wise men are instructed by reason ; men 
of less understanding by experience ; the most 
ignorant by necessity ; and brutes by nature. 

.... Of all the impostors and calumniators in 
the world, Ave most despise those who entrench 
themselves behind church pews, and the sanctity 
of religion. 

.... You may depend upon it that he is a 
good man whose intimate friends are all good, 
and whose enemies are all of a character decid- 
edly bad. 

.... Pride is never more offensive than when 
it condescends to be civil ; whereas, vanity, 
whenever it forgets itself, naturally assumes good 
humor. 

.... Fine sensibilities are like woodbines, de- 
liglitful luxuries of beauty to twine round a solid, 
upright stem of understanding, but very poor 
things, if, unsustained by strength, they are left 
to creep along the ground. 

.... The greatest pleasure connected with 
wealth consists in acquiring it. Two months 
after a man comes into a fortune, he feels just as 
prosy and fretful as he did when he worked for 
six shillings a day. 

.... Wealth is the smallest of the gifts of 
God. What is it to be compared with his Word, 
or corporeal gifts — such as beauty, health and 
activity? What is it to the gifts of the mind — 
such as intellect, science and taste ? 

.... Wlien hearts are filled with holy affec- 
tions, and home is happy, tlicn do the young 
dwell in a charmed circle, which only the natui- 
ally depraved would seek to quit, and across 
which boundary temptations to error shhie out 
but feebly. 



3oktx3 JJttttget. 

Wliat officer displays the most military tac- 
tics 1 Marsltal Array (martial array.) 

Why is a four quart jug like a lady's side-sad- 
dle ! Because it holds a gall-on. 

AYho was the first post-boy ? Cadmus ; ho 
carried letters from Phcenicia to Greece. 

AVliy is a woman living up two pair of stairs 
like a goddess ? Because she is a second Flora. 

Why is the hour between ten and twelve at 
long odds ■? Because it is ten to one. 

Why is a trick of legerdemain like declining 
an offer of marriage ? Because it is a sldght-of 
hand. 

Dickens, in speaking of pawnbrokers' dupli- 
cates, says they are the turnpike tickets on the 
road to poverty. 

Soup for the poor. — Three parings of potatoes 
to a hogshead of dish-water. If too rich, add a 
pump-handle while boiling. 

To support shirt collars during the present ran 
of hot weather, a genius down East has invented 
a set of puUies which pass over the ears. 

A Western editor speaks of the circumstance 
of a bird building its nest upon a ledge over the 
door of a doctor's of&ce, as an attempt to rear its 
young in the very jaws of death. 

Mike yesterday said he was going to move 
from the house he then occupied. Scaley asked 
him '* What for?" Mike's answer was: "I 
don't like the viciinti/." Tucker then ejaculated : 
" Don't like the vice in it eh ?" Mike thought 
Tucker personal. 

The editor of the Boston Post says, that a 
newly-invented dozen bladed knife has been 
made by a Yankee cutler, which has, in addition 
to its blades, a cork-screw, a bodkin, a hair bnish, 
and a boot-jack, besides, a season ticket to the 
theatre. 

At a court martial lately held at Norfolk, the 
following dialogue is said to have taken place 
between one of the witnesses and the court : 
" Are you a Catholic ?" " No, sir." " Are you 
a Protestant?" "No, sir." *'What are you, 
then ?" " Captain of the foretop." 



VOLUMES 1st & 2d. 

GLEASON'S PICTORIAL. 

"We have volumes 1st and 2A of the Pictorial Drawinq 
Room Companion elegjintly bound in cloth, with gilt edgea 
and back, and illnmined sides, forming a superb and most 
attractive parlor ornament in the shape of a book of 

Between Four and Five Htmdred Pages, 

AND CONTAINING NEARLY 

ONE THOUSAND ENGRAVINGS 

of Men, Manners, and current Event-s all over the world ; 
of Scenery in all parts of the Globe ; of famous Cities, and 
beautiful Villages ; of Pageants at homt and abroad; of 
fine Maritime Views ; and, in short, of an infinite variety 
of interesting and instructive subjects ; with an 

ILLUJnNED TITLE-PAGE AND INDEX 

of great beauty and artistic excellence, and forming a very 
brilliant frontispiece to the volume. 

Besides the many illustrations, it embraces in its pages 
a vast amount of original Tales, Sketches, Poems and Nov- 
elettes, from the best of American authors, with a current 
News Kecord of the times ; altogether forming an exceed- 
ingly novel and elegant volume, for future reference and 
present enjoyment, both in regard to reading matter and 
iUustrations- 

For 6a!e at the Publication Office, by our Wholesale 
Agents, and at all the Periodical Depots throughout the 
Union, for Tliree Dollars per volume. 



THE FLAG OF OUR UNIOlf , 

AN ELEGANT, MOEAL AND EEFINED 

Miscellaneous Family Journal, 

Devoted to polite literature, wit and humor, prose and 
poetic gems, and original prize tales, ^ratten exp ssly for 
this paper, and at a very great cost. In politics, nd on 
all sectarian fjuestions, it is strictly neutral. Notuing of 
an immoral nature will ever be admitted into its columns ; 
therefore making it emphatically, 

A PAPER FOR THE MILLION, 

AND A WELCOME VISITOR TO THE HOME CIRCLE. 

It ia generally acknowledged that the Flag is now the 
leading^ tveekly paper in the United Stales^ and its literary 
contents are allowed, by the best judges, to be unsurpassed. 

It contains the foreign and domestic news of the day, 
BO condensed as to enable us to give the greatest possible 
amount of intelhgence. No advertisementa are admitted 
to the paper, thus offering the entire sheet, which is of 

THE MAMMOTH SIZE, 

for the instruction and amusement of the general reader. 
An unrivalled corps of contributors are regularly engaged, 
and every department is under the most finished and per- 
fect system that experience can suggest, or money produce. 
Lacking neither the means nor the will, we can lay before 
our hundreds of thousands of readers an 

the present circulation of which far exceeds that of any 
other weekly paper in the Union. 

TEEMS TO STTBSCEIBEES. 
1 subscriber, one year 5f2 00 

3 subscribers, '' 5 00 

4 « '' 6 00 

8 " " 11 00 

16 " '^ 20 00 

One copy of the Flag of OOH Unhon, and one copy of the 
Pictorial Drawing-Roost Compakion, one year, for S500. 

£^7" Invariably in advance. 

Subscribers or postmasters are requested to act as agents, 
and form clubs, on the above terms. 

O" All orders should be addressed, post PAID, to the 
POBLISUER. of the FlAG OF OCIl UNION. 

*^* The Flag can be obtained at any of the neiospapc 
depots ill the United States, and of newspaper carriers, at 
FOUE CENTS per single copy. 

F. GLEASON, 
Publisbee and Peoprietor, Boston, Mabs. 



04 



GLEASON'S PICTOPJAL DRAWING ROOM fiOMPANION. 




[Coniiintedfrom Isfpar/e.] 
Mr. Clay continued 
in llic olVu:c of sccrctiiry 
of stiitc until 1829. Two 
yciirs later, in Deccnnl)er, 
1831, he was again 
clcctofl to the Senate of 
the United States, and 
continued a member of 
that body until March 
.31, 1842, when he re- 
signed. Mr. Clay lived 
in elegant retirement at 
Ashland, until lie was 
again (1849) elected to 
the Senate. And here, 
after a brilliant parlia- 
mentary career, he clos- 
ed his fife, as his friend 
John Quiney Adams did, 
with Ills harness on — 
still serving tlie country 
for whose welfare his 
heart so fervently beat. 
For tiie excellent like- 
ness given on our lirst 
page, we are indebted 
to a daguerreotype by 
Meade Brothers, New 
York. Wc also pre- 
sent on this page a fac- 
simile of the medal giv- 
en by the citizens of New 
York to Mr. Clay, in 
respect for his charact<^.r 
as a statesman and a 
citizen. It is an expen- 
sive and beautiful tri- 
bute. The cost of cut- 
ting the die was $1600, 
the gold for the medal 
cost $400, the silver cas- 
ing $75, the design and 
incidental expenses cost 
$400 more. The dies 
were cut by C. C. 
"Wright, and are taken 
from Pi*udens' bust of 
Henry Clay in his 73d 
year. We present both 
sides of the medal. 




CLAY MEDAL — OB\Ti;RSE SIDE. 



CLAY MEDAL BEVEllSE SIDE. 




VIEW OF THE BLIND ASYLUM INSTITUTION, SOUTH BOSTON. 



[Sw p. Cl for ileRcription.] 




CORNER BROifFIELD 



. IxiiJiAOUiN, i iND TREMONT STS. 



BOSTON, SATUEDAY, JULY 31, 1852 



¥2 PER TOLmiE. 
10 Cts. single. 



Vol. m. No. 5.— Whole No. 57. 



THE BOSTON FARSI SCHOOL. 

Last week we gave a very fine picture of the 
Blind Asylum, at South Boston Point, just on 
the edge of our harbor ; below we give a scene 
not far removed from the former, being an origi- 
nal and accurate view of the Farm School. This 
institution is on Tiiompson's Island, about four 
miles from the city, and about a mile from Dor- 
chester. By its insular position and salubrious 
air, it affords peculiar advantages for accom- 
plishing the purposes of the institution. It con- 
tains one hundred and forty acres of land, about 
seventy-two of which are under cultivation ; the 
remainder being devoted to pasturage and the 
accommodation of the pupils. The soil consists 
of a rich loam, with a light sub-soil, and is well 
adapted to the raising of all the grains and vege- 



tables usually cultivated in New England. The 
establishment is situated on the highest part of 
the island, and command? an extensive view of 
the city, its harbor and surrounding country. It 
is a substantial brick edifice, with a projecting 
centre and two wings. The first floor contains 
a wash-room, kitchens, dining-hall and office ; 
the second, a very spacious school-room, and 
several apartments for the superintendent, fami- 
ly and teachers. The boys' sleeping-room is in 
the tiiird story, and is fitted up with beds in such 
a manner as to separate each boy from his neigh- 
bor, and permit the teacher, who sleeps with 
them, to overlook their conduct. Tlie establish- 
ment at the island is under the immediate direc- 
tion of a superintendent, a matron, and an in- 
structor. A school is kept, both morning and 



afternoon, for about six hours daily, in which are 
taught the elements of useful knowledge; read- 
ing, writing, arithmetic, geography and grammar. 
During the evening, especially in the winter 
months, instruction is also given in the first prin- 
ciples of agriculture, horticulture, botany, etc. 
The moral and religious culture of the pupils is 
an object of pre-eminent importance in an insti- 
tution like this ; and, of course, it is the aim of 
the managers, as far as practicable, to make tlie 
whole discipline and instruction of the pupil, 
whilst upon the island, bear upon his moral and 
religious nature. There is a good collection of 
juvenile books, selected with due regard to the 
character and capacities of the pupils, to which 
the boys have access. That the pupils may be 
trained to habits of order and industry, and en- 



abled, when tliey leave the institution, to pursue 
some occupation by which they may gain a live- 
lihood, they are required to perform as much of 
the manual lalior done on the farm, and in the 
house, as their various ages and capacities will 
permit. During the season of farming opera- 
tions, all the boys in the institution, of sufficient 
age and strength, are regularly employed in la- 
bor on the farm, under the care of the superm- 
tendent, who is a practical farmer. The object 
is to make them skilful, practical farmers. At 
the age of twenty-one, each boy is entitled to a 
suit of clothes ; and, if apprenticed to a farmer, 
to one hundred dollars in money in addition. 
The present number of hoys in the institution is 
ninety-four ; and there are accommodations for 
one hundred. 




THE BOSTON FABM SCHOOL, AT THOMPSON S ISLAND, BOSTON HARBOR. 



GO 



CxLEASON'S PICTOllIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



Entci-ca accoi-dinir to Act of Con{;ress, in the ycnr 18r,2, l)y ¥. Gleason, in tlio Clevk'b Office of tho 
District Court of Mussaclmsotta. 

[WBITTEN EXPHESSLY FOE GLEASON'B PICTOnlAL.] 



THE 



l^iPi 



pnp^ ® 



OR, 

THE FORTUNES OF A SOLDIER. 

:A Stovg of UxH mh (fjc Cow Ui\Uk$, 



BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY. 



CHAPTEK VIII.— [COKTINDED.] 

"I wonder," said he to himself, somewhat 
enviously, " why Kuez does not come to-diiy 1 it 
is his honi- — ay, must ho even past the time, and 
tlic hoy loves me too well to neglect me now, 
when I am so near my end. Hark ! is that his 
step 1 No ; and yet it must he ; it is too light 
for tho guard or turnkey. yes, that is my 
door, certainly, and here he is, sure enough. I 
knew he would come." 

As the prisoner said this, tho door slowly 
opened on its rusty and creaking hinges, .and the 
turnkey immediately closed it after the new 
comer, who wits somewhat closely wrapped in 
the profuse folds of a long Sp.anish cloak. 

" Well, Euez," said Captain Bez.an, quite leis- 
urely, and without turning his head towards the 
door, " I had begun to feiir that yon would not 
come to day. You know you are the only being 
I see, except the turnkey, and I'm quite sensitive 
about your visits, my dear hoy. However, you 
are here, at last; sit down." 

" Captain Bezan, it appears to me that you do 
not welcome me very cordially," said Isabella 
Gonzales, in reply, and a little archly. 

" Lady !" said the prisoner-, springing to his 
feet .as though ho had been strack by an electric 
shock, " Senorita Isabella Gonzales, is it possible 
that you have remembered me at such a time — 
me, wlio am so soon to die V 

Isabella Gonz.iles had now thrown back the 
ample folds of the cloak she wore, and lifting her 
brother's cap from her head, her beautiful hair 
fell into its accustomed place, and with a slight 
blush tinging either cheek, she stood before the 
young soldier in his cell, an object of ineffable 
interest and beauty. 

" Heaven bless you, lady," said tho prisoner, 
kneeling at her feet. 

" Nay. I pray you, sir, Captain Bezan, do 
not kneel at such a time." 

" All ! lady, how can I thank you in feeble 
words for this sweet ray of sunshine that you 
have cast athwart my dark and dreary path 1 I 
no longer remember that I am to die — that my 
former comrades are to pierce my heart with 
bullets. I cannot remember my fate, lady, since 
you have rendered me so happy. You have 
shown me that I did not mistake the throne at 
which I have sooretly worshipped — that, all good 
and pure as you are, you would not forget Lo- 
renzo Bezan, the poor, the lonely soldier who liad 
dared to tell you how dearly he loved yon." 

As he spoke, Isabella Gonzales seemed for one 
moment to forget herself in the realizations of 
the scene. Slie listened to his thrice eloquent 
words with eyes bent upon tho ground at first, 
and then gazing tenderly upon liim, and now 
that he had ceased to speak, they sought once 
more the floor of the room in silence. He could 
not hut constme these delicate demonstrations 
in his favor, and drawing close to her side, he 
pressed her hand tenderly to his lips. The touch 
seemed to act hke magic, and aroused her to 
jiresent consciousness, while she started as if in 
amazement. All the pride of her disposition 
was instantly aroused ; she felt that for a single 
moment she had forgotten herself, and to retrieve 
the apparent acquiescence that she had seemed to 
show to the condemned soldier's words and tale 
of love, she now appeared to think that she must 
as.sume all the hauteur of character that usually 
governed her in her intercourse with his sex 
and the world generally. It was but a simple 



[continued.] 

struggle, and all her self possession was r.allied 
again to her service and absolute control. 

" Captain Bezan," slie said, with assumed dig- 
nity, and drawing herself up in all her beauty of 
person to its full height, " I came not hither to 
hear such t.alk as this from you, nor to submit to 
such familiarity, and I trust, sir, that you will 
henceforth remember your station, and respect 
mine." 

The breast of the prisoner heaved with inward 
emotion, in the struggle to suppress its outward 
show, and he hit his lips until tho blood nearly 
flowed. His face instantly became the picture 
of despair ; for her words liad planted that grief 
and sorrow in his heart which the fear of death 
could not arouse tlicrc. Even Isabella Gonzales 
seemed for a moment struck with the effect of 
her repulse ; but her o'wn proud heart would not 
pei-mit her to recall one word she had uttered. 

" I Avould not leave you, Captain Bezan," said 
she, at length, as she gathered the ample folds of 
the cloak abouther, " without once more tendering 
to you my most earnest thanks for your great 
services to our family. You know to what I 
refer. " I need not tell you," she continued, 
with a quivering lip, "that my father has done 
all in his power to hsive your sentence remitted, 
but, alas ! to no effect. Tacon seems to be re- 
solved, and unchangeable." 

As she spoke thus, spite of all her assumed 
pride and self-control, a tear trembled in her 
eye, and her respiration came quickly — almost 
in sobs ! 

The young soldier looked at her silently for a 
moment; at flrst he seemed puzzled; he was 
weighing in his own mind the meaning of all 
this as contrasted with the repulse he had just 
received, and with the estimate he had before 
formed of her ; at last, seeming to read the spirit 
that had possessed her, he said : 

" All, lady, I bless you a thousand times for 
that tear !" 

" Nay, sir, I do not understand you," she said, 
quickly. 

" Nor your own heart either, lady, else you 
disguise its truth. Ah ! why should all this be 
so ? why should hearts he thus masked V 

" Sir, this is positive impertinence," said Isa- 
bella Gonzales, struggling once more to sum- 
mon her pride to sustain her. 

"Impertinence, lady?" repeated the prisoner, 
sadly. 

" That was my word, sir," answered the proud 
girl, with assumed harshness. 

" No, it would be impossible for me, on the 
very brink of the grave, to say aught but the 
truth ; and I love you too deeply, too fervently, 
to be impertinent. You do not know me, lady. 
In my heart I have reared an altar to worship 
at, and that shrine for three years has been thy 
dearly loved form. How dearly and passionately 
I have loved — what a chastening influence it has 
produced upon my life, my comrades, who know 
not yet the cause, could tell you. To-morrow I 
must die. AVhilo I hoped one day to win your 
love, life was most dear to me, and I was happy. 
I could then have clung to life with as much te- 
nacity as any one. But, lady, I find that I have 
been mistaken ; my whole dream of fancy, of 
love, is gone, and life is no better to me than a 
burden. I speak not in haste, nor in passion. 
You must hear me witness that I am calm and 
collected ; and I assure you that the bullets 
which end my existence will be but swift-winged 



messengers of peace to my already broken 
heart I" 

" C;iptaiu Bezan," said Isabella, licsitating, 
and liardly speaking distinctly. 
"Well, lady'!" 

" How could you have so deceived yourself 1 
How could you possibly suppose that one in your 
sphere of life could hope to be united to one in 
mine?" asked Isaliclla Gonzales, with a half 
averted face and a trembling voice, as she spoke. 
" It was foolhardy, sir ; it was more than that ; 
it was preposterous !" 
" Lady, you arc severe." 
" I speak but truth. Captain Bezan, and your 
own good sense will sustain it." 

" 1 forgot your birtli and rank, your wealth — 
everything. I acknowledge this, in the love I 
bore you; and, lady, I still feel, thatliad not my 
career been thus summarily checked, I might yet 
have won your love. Nay, lady, do not frown ; 
true love never despairs — never is disheartened — 
never relinquishes the object that it loves, wliilo 
there is one ray of light yet left to guide it on. 
It did seem to me now, when we are parting so 
surely /oreper, that it might have boon, on your 
part, more kindly, and that you would, by a smile, 
or even 'a tear-drop, for my sake, have thus 
blessed mo, and lightened my hea\'y steps to the 
field of execution and of trial. 

Isabella Gonzales, as she listened to his words, 
could no longer suppress her feelings, but cover- 
ing her face with her hands, she wept for a mo- 
ment like a child. Pride was of no avail ; the 
heart had asserted its supremacy, and would not 
be controlled. 

" Y'ou take advantage of my woman's heart, 
sir," she said, at last. " I cannot boar the idea 
that any one should suff'er, and more particularly 
one who has endeared himself to mo and mine 
by such important service as you have done. 
Do not think that tears argue aught for tho wild 
t.ale you have uttered, sir. I would not have 
you deceive yourself so much ; but I am a wo- 
man, and cannot view violence or grief un- 
moved !" 

" Say, rather, lady," added the soldier, most 
earnestly, " that you are pure, beautiful, and good 
at heart, hut that pride, that only alloy of thy 
most lovely character, chokes its growth in your 
bosom." 
" Sir I" 

" Well, Senorita Isabella." 
"Enough of this," she said, hastily and much 
excited. " I must leave you now, captain. It 
is neither fitting that I should hear, nor that you 
should utter such words as these to Isabella 
Gonzales. Farewell !" 

" Lady, farewell," replied tho prisoner, more 
by instinct thiin by any comprehension that she 
w.as actually about to leave him. 

" I pray you. Captain Bezan, do not think 
th.at I cherish any unkind thoughts towards you," 
she said, turning when at the door; " on tho 
contrary, I am by no moans unmindful of my 
indebtedness to you ; but far be it from me to 
sanction a construction of my feelings or actions 
which my heart will not second." 

" Lady, your word is law to me," replied the 
submissive prisoner. 

When she had gone, and tho rough grating of 
the turnkey's instruments had done sounding in 
his ear, Captain Bezan remained a moment look- 
ing upon the spot where she had stood, with ap- 
parent amazement. Ho could not realize that 
she had been there at all ; and hardest of all, that 
she had kftliim so abruptly. Buthor "farewell" 
still rang in his ears, and throwing himself upon 
his rude seat, with his face buried in his hands, 
ho exclaimed : 

" Welcome, welcome death ! I would that 
thou wort here already !" 



bright and beautiful tropical moniing might be 
supposed to induce. Tiiey knew only too well 
of tlic tragedy that was that day to be enacted ; 
such occasions — the spilling of the tide of life, in 
colli blood — suited not tlieir chivalrous notions 
at any time, much less so now, for they loved 
the officer who was to lose his life — a victim to 
Harcro — whom, again, few men respected, cithei* 
as a soldier or a man — his character was repulsive 
to nearly all. 

" So the captain is to he shot to-day," remarked 
one of Captain Bczan's own company, to a com- 
rade whom he had just met in the Plaza. 
" Yes, I had ratlier it had been — " 
" Hush, Alonzo," said his companion, observ- 
ing General Harero walking across the street. 

" That is he, and he is the only man I ever 
saw," continued the other, " that I would like to 
see shot in cold blood. Poor Bezan, lie's sacri- 
ficed to the general !" 

" I wonder wliat gave the trouble between 
them." 

"Don't know; some say there's a lady in the 
case." 

" I hadn't heard of that." 
" Yes, you know he challenged the general V 
" Yes." 

" Well, that was about a lady, in some way ; 
I heard one of the officers say so." 
" The first file do tho business." 
" Yes, and thankful am I, Alonzo, that you 
and I are in the fourth section." 

The hour appointed for the execution of the 
sentence had nearly arrived, and the steady roll 
of the drum beat the regiment to which Captain 
Bczan's company belonged, to the line. His 
own immediate company was formed on the side 
of the Plaza at right angles with the rest of the 
lino, in all some thousand rank and file. This 
company " stood at ease," and the men hung 
then heads, as if ashamed of the business they 
were about to perform. In the rest of the line 
the men exchanged a few words with each ether, 
now and then, quietly, but the company referred 
to, spoke not a word to each other. Their offi- 
cers stood in a little knot by themselves, and evi- 
dently felt sad at heart when they remembered 
the business before them, for their comrade con- 
demned to die had been a universal favorite. 

But a few moments transpired, after the form- 
ing of the line, before an aid-de-camp approached 
and transmitted an order to the first-lieutenant, 
now commanding the company, and the first file 
of twelve men were marched away to the rear of 
the barracks, while the rest of the company were 
sent to the prison to do guard duty in escorting 
the prisoner to the ground. It seemed to them 
as though this additional insult might have been 
spared to the prisoner — that of being guarded by 
his late command, in place of any other portion 
of the regiment being detailed for this service. 
But this was General Harcro's management, 
who seemed to gloat in his own diabolical pur- 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE EXECUTION SCENE. 

TnE morning was bright and beautiful tliat 
ushered in the day which was appointed for the 
execution of Captain Lorenzo Bezan, in accord- 
ance with tlie sentence passed upon him. The 
birds carolled gaily in the little grove that is 
formed about the fountain which fronts tho gov- 
ernor-general's palace and the main barracks of 
the army, while the fresh, soft air from inland 
came loaded with delicious flavors and sweet 
aroma. Nature could hardly have assumed a 
more captivating mood than she wore at that 
time. 

The soldiers, wlio sauntered about the Plaza, 
and hung around the doors of tho guard house, 
wore an air quite different from that which the 



poses. 

In tho meantime the prisoner had risen that 
morning from his damp, rude couch, and had 
completed his simple toilet with more than usual 
neatness. After offering up a sincere prayer, 
and listening to the words of the priest who had 
been sent to prepare him for the last hour, he 
declared calmly that he was ready to die. He 
had looked for Euez Gonzales, and wondered 
not a little that the boy had not come to bid him 
farewell that morning — a last, long farewell. 
" Perhaps his young he.art wiis too full for him 
to do so," said tho doomed soldier; "and yet I 
should haA'o felt h.appier to see him again. It is 
strange how much his purity and gentleness of 
character have caused me to love him. Next to 
Isabella Gonzales, surely that boy is nearest to 
my heart. Poor Euez will miss me, for the boy 
loves me much." 

As he mused thus to himself, the steady and 
regular tread of armed men was heard approach- 
ing his prison door, .and tlie young soldier knew 
full well for what purpose they came. In a few 
moments after, ho who had formerly been his 
second in command entered the coll and saluted 
the prisoner respectfully. 

" Captain Bezan," said the lieutenant, " Ineed 
not explain in detail to you the very unpleasant 
business upon which I have been at this time 
sent, nor add," continued the officer, in a lower 
tone of voice, "how much I regret the fate that 
awaits you." 

"Nay, Ferdinand," answered Captain Bezan, 
calmly, " say nothing of the matter, but give me 
your hand, my friend, and do your duty." 

" Would to God I could in any way avoid it, 
Lorenzo," said his brotlier officer, who had lo'tg 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



67 



been associated witli him, and who had loved 
him well. 

''Regrets are useless, Ferdinand. Youknow 
we all have our allotted time, and mine has come. 
You shall see that I will die like a soldier." 

"Ay, Lorenzo; but in such a way; so heart- 
lessly, so needlessly, so in cold blood ; alas ! why 
were you so imprudent 1 I am no woman, com- 
rade. You have fought in the same field, 
and slept in the same tent with me oftentimes, 
and you know that I have laid the sod upon my 
companion's breast without a murmur, without 
a complaint ; but tliis business is too much for 
me !" 

"Fie, fie, man," said the prisoner, with as- 
sumed indifference ; " look upon it as a simple 
duty ; you but fulfil an order, and there's the 
end of it." 

" I can't, for the life of me, I can't !" 

" Why, my good fellow, come to think of it, 
you should not complain, of all others, since it 
gives you promotion and the command of our 
brave boys.'* 

A look of deep reproach was the only answer 
be received to this remark. 

" Forgive me, Ferdinand, forgive me. I did 
but jest," he continued, quickly, as he again 
grasped the hand of his comrade between his 
own. 

" Say no more, Lorenzo. Is there aught I 
can do for you before we march ?" 

" Nothing." 

" No little boon — no service you would like to 
trust to a friend and comrade V 

" My papers are all aiTanged and addressed 
to you, with directions how I should like to have 
. them disposed of. There is nothing else, Ferdi- 
nand." 

" It will be my melancholy pleasure to follow 
your wishes implicitly," was the reply. 

" Thank you, Ferdinand." 

"Is that all?" 

" AIL" 

" Then we must at once away." 

" One moment— stay, Ferdinand ; tell my poor 
boys who act the executioners, those of the ^first 
fihy to fire low — at vnj keart, Ferdinand ! You 
will remember V 

"Alas! yes," said his comrade, turning sud- 
denly away from the prisoner. 

"And tell them, Ferdinand, that I most heart- 
ily and sincerely forgive tliem for the part they 
are called upon to play in this day's drama." 

" I will— I will." 

" That is all. I have no other request, and 
am prepared now to follow you," he added, with 
a calm and resigned expression of countenance. 

The drum beat — the file opened — the prisoner 
took his position, and the detachment of men 
whom he had so often commanded amid the 
carnage of battle and the roar of cannon, now 
guarded him towards the place of his execution. 

Lorenzo Bczan had but a little way to march ; 
but still a blusla suffused his face as he passed, 
thus humiliated, through the public Plaza, where 
he had so often j^araded his company before. 
All eyes were now bent upon him, from the 
humblest to the highest, for he was well known, 
and his fate had created much remark among 
all. He was marched quietly to the rear of the 
barracks, and as the company filed by the guard 
house, to the long open space on the city side, 
just opposite Moro Castle, he distinctly heard a 
voice from one of the windows say : 

" God bless and help you. Captain Bezan !" 

He turned partially round to see the speaker, 
but no one was visible. He was sure it was 
Enez's voice, and wondering why he did not 
come forward to meet his eye, he marched on to 
the plain where the entire division of General 
Harero's command was drawn up to witness the 
scene. It is difficult to conceive, and much 
more so to describe, such an impressive sight as 
presented itself at this moment to the spectator. 
There was so much mockery in the brilliant 
uniforms, flaunting plumes and gilded accouti-e- 
ments of the soldiery, 'when contrasted with the 
purpose of the scene, that one could hardly con- 
template the sight even for a moment with ordi- 
nary composure. 

The prisoner, attended by a private and t^vo 
officers, was led to his position, where, divested 
of his coat, he stood simply in his linen and 
nether garments, and quietly submitted to have 
his hands bound behind hira, while he exchanged 
a few pleasant words with those who were about 
him. At a signal from the provost marshal, one 
of the ofiieers essayed to bind a handkerchief be- 
fore his eyes, but at an earnest request to the 
contrary by the prisoner, he desisted, and in a 



moment after he stood alone beside the open 
grave that had been dug to receive his remains ! 

Behind him rolled the ocean, mingling with 
the waters of the Gulf Stream ; on either side 
were ranged the longlineof infantry that formed 
his division, while in front was ranged his own 
company, and some ten yards in front of them 
stood the file of thirteen men who were to be his 
executioners. They had just been supplied with 
their muskets by an officer, and were told that 
one was without ball, that each one might hope 
his was not the hand to slay his former comrade 
in arms. Another signal from the provost, and 
the lieutenant commanding Captain Bezan's 
company advanced from the rear to the side of 
the first file to his regular position, at the same 
time saying in a low voice : 

" Fire low, my men, as yon love our former 
comrade — aim at his lieatt .'" 

A glance, and a sad one of intelligence, was 
all he could receive from the men. Two or three 
successive orders brouglit the file to the proper 
position for firing. 

At that moment Lorenzo Bezan, with a slight 
exertion of the great physical strength which he 
possessecl, easily broke the cords asunder that 
bound his wrists behind him, and dashing the 
dark hair from his high and manly forehead, he 
calmly folded his arms upon his breast, and 
awaited the fire that was to end his existence. 
The fearful word was given by the officer, and 
so still was every one, so breathless the whole 
scene, that the order was distinctly heard through 
the entire length of tlie lines. 

The morning sun shone like living fire along 
the polislied barrels of the guns, as the muzzles 
all ranged in point towards the heart of the con- 
demned. In spite of the effort not to do so, the 
officer paused between the order to aim, and that 
to fire. The word appeared to stick in his 
throat, and he opened bis mouth twice before he 
could utter the order ; but at last he did so, dis- 
tinctly, though with a powerful effort. 

The sharp, quick report of the muskets that 
followed this order, seemed to jar upon every 
heart among that military throng, except, indeed, 
of him who sat upon a large dapple gray horse, 
at the right of the line, and whose insignia be- 
spoke him to be the commanding officer, General 
Harero. He sat upon his horse like a statue, 
with a calm but determined expression upon his 
features, while a stern smile might be observed 
to wreathe his lips for an instant at the report of 
the guns fired by the executing file. 

But see, as the smoke steadily sweeps to sea- 
ward, for a moment it completely covers the 
spot where the victim stood, and now it sweeps 
swiftly off over the water. But what means that 
singular murmur so audible along the line — that 
movement of surprise and astonishment observed 
in all directions ? 

Behold, there stood erect the unharmed form 
of Lorenzo Bezan ! Not a hair of his head was 
injured ; not a line of his noble countenance was 
in the least distorted. As calm as though nought 
had happened, he stood there unmoved. He 
had so braced himself to the effort, that nothing 
human could have unnerved him. Hastily di- 
recting an aid-de-camp to the spot with some 
new order, General Harero issued anotlier to his 
officers for the lines to be kept firm, and prepar- 
ations were instantly set about for another and 
more certain attempt upon the life of the con- 
demned, who seemed to the spectators to have 
escaped by some divine interposition, little less 
than a miracle. 

At that instant there dashed into the ai-ea a 
mounted aid-de-camp, bearing the uniform of 
the governor-general's suite, and riding directly 
up to General Harero, he handed him a paper. 
It was done before the whole line of militaiy and 
the spectators, all of whom seemed to know as 
well its purport as did tlie general after reading it. 
" A reprieve ! A reprieve !" ran from mouth 
to mouth along the whole length of the line, 
until at last it broke out in one wild huzza, defy- 
ing all discipline. 

Tliose nearest to General Harero heard him 
utter a cm-se, deep but suppressed, for the sur- 
mise of the multitude was con-eet. Captain Be- 
zan had been reprieved ; and, probabh^ in fear 
of this very thing, the general of the division had 
taken upon himself to set the time of execution 
one hour earlier than had been announced to 
Tacon — a piece of villany tha't had neai'ly cut off 
the young soldier from the clemency that the 
governor had resolved to extend to him at the 
very last moment, when the impressiveness of 
the scene should have had its effect. 

Issuing one or two hasty orders. General Ha- 



rero put spurs to his horse and dashed off the 
grounds with chagrin but too plainly written in 
his face not to betray itself. He could even de- 
tect a hiss now and then from the crowd, as lie 
passed ; and one or two, bolder than the rest, 
cast epithets at him in vile language, but he 
paused not to listen. He was no favorite with 
citizens or soldiers, and hastily dismounting at 
tlie door of tlie palace, he sought his own room 
with feelings of suppressed rage and bitterness. 
But what was the meaning of those twelve 
musketeers all missing their aim "? So vexed 
was General Harero at this, that his first order 
was for their united arrest ; but that had been 
countermanded now, since the governor had re- 
prieved the prisoner ; for the general saw that he 
stood in a false position, in having changed the 
hour for execution, and did not cai-e to provoke 
a controversy that might lead to his exposure 
before the stern justice of Tacon, and he did well 
to avoid it. • 

It was very plain to officers and men that there 
had been foul play somewhere, and so excited 
had the division become by this time, that the 
officers began to look seriously at each other, 
fearing an immediate outbreak and disregard of 
discipline. It was a time to txj the troops, if 
one had ever occurred. They would have stood 
firm and have received an enemy's fire without 
wavering; but there seemed some cold-blooded 
rascality here, in the arriving of the reprieve after 
the twelve men had fired, even though they did 
so ineffectually. 

Quick, stern orders were quickly passed from 
line to line, the division was wheeled into col- 
umn, the drums beat a quick march, and the 
whole column passed up the Calle del Iguasio 
towards the front of the main barracks, where, 
lest the symptoms, already referred to, should 
ripen into sometliing more serious still, orders 
were issued to keep the division still under arms. 

In the meantime. Captain Lorenzo Bezan, still 
as calm as though nought had occurred, was 
marched back to his cell in the prison, to hear 
the conditions upon which the reprieve, as dic- 
tated by Tacon, was granted. As he passed the 
guard house again, on his return, he heard his 
name called as he had heard it when he marched 
with the guard : 

" God bless you. Captain Bezan !" 

" Strange," tliought the prisoner — he knew it 
for Buez Gonzales's voice at once ; " where can 
that boy be secreted V He mused for a second 
of time. This was the portion of the guard 
room where the officer on duty had loaded the 
guns for his execution, and from here they had 
been taken and passed into the hands of the men. 
It did not require much peneti'ation on the part 
of the reprieved soldier to understand now the 
reason why these twelve men had missed their 
aim ! 

How it was accomplished, of course he knew 
not ; nor could he hardly surmise in his oivn 
mind, so very strictly is the care of such matters 
attended to under all like circumstances ; but 
one thing he felt perfectly sure of, and indeed he 
was right in his conjecture — Ruez had drawn the 
bullets from the guns! 



CHAPTEE X. 

THE BANISHMENT. 

Lorenzo Bezan had hardly reached his place 
of confinement, once more, before he was waited 
upon by the secretary of the governor-general, 
who explained to him the terms on which his 
reprieve was granted, viz., that he should leave 
the territory and soil of Cuba by the next home- 
ward hound packet to Spain, to remain there, 
unless otherwise ordered by special direction of 
the government. His rank as captain of infantry 
was secured to him, and the usual exhortation 
in sncli cases was detailed, as to the hope that 
the present example might not be lost upon him, 
as to the matter of a more strict adherence to 
the subject of military discipline. 

Repugnant as was the proposition to leave the 
island while life was his, Lorenzo Bezan had no 
alternative but to do so ; and, moreover, when 
he considered the attraction that held him on the 
spot, how the Senorita Isabella Gonzales had 
treated him, when she had every reason to be- 
lieve that it was his last meeting with her, and 
nearly the last hour of his life, he saw that if she 
would treat liim thus at such a moment, then, 
when he had not the excuse of remarkable exi- 
gency and the prospect of certain death before 
him, she would be no kinder. It was while ex- 
ercised by such thoughts as these that he an- 
swered the secretary : 



" Bear my thanks, with much respect, to the 
governor-general, and tell him that I accept from 
himhis noble clemency and justice, the boon of 
my life, on his own terms." 

The secretary bowed low and departed. 

We might tell the reader how Lorenzo Bczan 
threw himself upon his bed of straw, and wept 
like a child — how he shed tiiere the first tears he 
had shed since his arrest, freely and without a 
check. His heart seemed to bleed more at the 
idea of leaving the spot where Isabella lived, 
and yet to live on himself, elsewhere, than his 
spirit had faltered at the idea of certain death. 
Her last cruel words, and the proud spirit she 
exhibited towards him, were constantly before 
his eyes. 

" 0," said he, half aloud, "how I have wor- 
shipped, how adored that fairest of God's crea- 
tures I" 

At moments he had thought that he saw 
through Isabella's character — at moments had 
truly believed that he might by assiduity, per- 
haps, if favored by fortune, win her love, and, 
may be, her hand in marriage. At any rate, 
with his light and buoyant heart, there was sun- 
shine and hope enough in the future to irradiate 
his soul with joy, until the last scene in his drama 
of life, added to that of her last cold farewell! 

He was soon informed that the vessel wliich 
was to take him to Spain would sail on tiie fol- 
lo^ving morning, and that no further time would 
be permitted to him on the island. He resolved 
to write one last letter of farewell to Isabella 
Gonzales, and then to depart ; and calling upon 
the turnkey for writing materials, which were 
now supplied to him, he wx-ote as follows : 

" Dear Ladt : Strange circumstances, with 
which you are doubtless well acquainted by 
this time, have changed my punishment from 
death to banishment. Under ordinary cu-cura- 
stanees it would hardly be called banishment for 
any person to be sent from a foreign clime to 
the place of his nativity ; nor would it appear to 
be such to me, were it not that I leave behind 
me the only being I have ever really loved — the 
idol angel of my heart — she who has been to 
me life, soul, everything, until now, when I am 
■\ATetehed beyond description; because without 
hope, all things would he as darkness to the hu- 
man heart. 

" I need not review our brief acquaintanceship, 
or reiterate to you the feelings I have already 
expressed. If you can judge between true love 
and gallantry, you know whether I am sincere or 
otherwise. I could not offer you wealth, Isabella 
Gonzales. I could not offer yon rank. I have 
no fame to share with you ; but 0, if it be the 
will of Heaven that another should call you wife, 
I pray that he may love you as I have done. I 
am not so selfisli but that I can utter this prayer 
with all my heart, and in the utmost sincerity. 

" The object of this hasty scrawl is once more 
to say to you farewell ; for it is sweet to me even 
to address you. May God bless your dear 
brother, who has done much to sustain me, 
bowed dowm as I have been with misfortune, and 
broken in spu'it ; and may the especial blessing 
of Heaven rest ever on and around you. 
" This will ever be the nightly prayer of 
Lorenzo Bezan." 

When Isabella Gonzales received this note on 
the following day, its author was nearly a dozen 
leagues at sea, bound for the port of Cadiz, Spain ! 
She hastily perused its contents again and again. 
looked off upon the open sea, as though she 
might be able to recall him, threw herself upon 
her couch, and wept bitter, scalding tears, until 
weary nature caused her to sleep. 

At last Buez stole into her room quietly, and 
finding her asleep, and a- tear-drop glistening 
still upon her cheek, he kissed away the peai-ly 
dew and awoke her once more to consciousness. 
He, too, had learned of Captain Bezan's sudden 
departure ; and by the open letter in his sister's 
hand, to which he saw appended his dearly loved 
friend's name, he judged that her weeping had 
been caused by the knowledge that he had left 
them — probably forever. 

Lorenzo Bezan should have seen her then, in 
her almost transcendent beauty, too proud, far 
too proud, to own even to herself that she loved 
the poor soldier ; yet her heart would thus unbid- 
den and spontaneously betray itself, in spite 
of all her proud calmness, and strong efforts 
at self-control. The boy looked at her earnestly ; 
twice he essayed to speak, and then, as if some 
after tliought had changed his purpose, he Idsscd 
her again, and was silent. 

[to be continued.] 



68 



GLEASON'S PICrrORIAL DRAWIJJG ROOM COMPANION. 



SECOND ILLUSTJIATEI) SEIIIES OF VIEWS OF NIAGARA FALLS. 




A GENEEAL VIEAV OF NIAGARA FALLS, FROM TILE Ai\lERICAN SIDE. 



THE FALLS OF NIAGARA. 

We present to our readers this week a continuation of our 
series of views of Niagara Falls. They are of the same 
effective character as those given in a former nnmher, and 
furnish a fine idea of this stupendous wonder of the world, 
which has been the admiration of every lover of nature in 
its exhibitions of sublimity aud grandeur. From the sum- 
mit of the perpendicular rocks, at the base of which we have 
halted, the view, although composed of tlic same elements, 
presents a totally different combination of lines. The 
American Fall no longer thunders overhead ; it boils at our 
feet, and the lower gulf expands beneath our eyes like a 
vast arena, as far as the English Fall, whose sliifting curtain 
extends in the form of a horse-shoe from one bend to the 
otiier. On the upper plateau is traced the curve of the 
Gi-eat Rapids, intercepted on tlie left by the shadows of Iris 
Island. The Hog's Back, which faces ns, towers above 
Prospect Island, enveloped in a belt of foam, above the level 
of which its soil rises but a few feet. Halting on the ex- 
treme point of the American shore, we can dip our feet in 
tlie Rapids at the very point where they launcli into the abyss. 
To cross the river, a line of ferry boats has been established 
below the American Fall. Tlie passage, secured from dan- 
ger by the solidity of the boats, and the skill of the oarsmen, 
offers no inconveniences but the motion of the waters still 
agitated by the recoil of their fall, and the fine and penetra- 
ting rain which the wind often sweeps over tlie transit of the 
boats, to the great discomfort of the passengers. To spare 
the latter the fatigue of a long descent to the shore, the 
gigantic wall of granite on the American side has been 
deeply excavated ; then, by filling up the vacuum at the base 
with the masses detached from the summit, a slope, steep 
but regular, has been formed, on which a double iron track 
has been laid. Two cars, each containing perhaps a dozen 
persons, furnished with seats arranged like those of an am- 
phitheatre, move upon this inelnied plane. They are at- 
tached to each other by an enormous cable and iron chains 
the length of the descent, so that by tlie same movetncnts, 
one car ascends while the other is descending. You thus 
behold yourself transported under a curved gallery, from 
the upper platform of the Rapids to the lower level of the 





•■V -\:t- V: 



YIEAV OF THE FACTORIES. 




river. This descent is not entirely divested of something 
terrifying. It is very difficult, once launched upon your 
course, not to keep thinking that if the cable should break, 
the car would escape, and you would be crushed and pul- 
verized to atoms before reaching the shores of tlie river. 
But at Niagara the traveller becomes necessarily familiarized 
with this sort of chance. On the opposite bank, the English 
have established a winding road, which allows vehicles to 
reach the landing-place, and by an odd contrast, a carriage 
station plants the standard of human civilization, like a de- 
fiance, almost, in the veiy teeth of the grand cataclysm of 
natui'e. At the top of the hill stands the Clifton House, 
and, a few hundred yards further. Point Victoria projects 
over the stream. Thence, with a spirit calmed, and with 
the eye soothed by the distance of the cataracts, you can 
measure the distances, and analyze the marvels. It is the 
proper point, then, to introduce a few figures into our de- 
scription. Tlie total of the grand curve formed by the three 
falls and by Iris and Prospect Islands, comprises a line of 
1400 yards. The American Fall is 164 feet in height; the 
Central Fall the same height, and the English Fall 158 feet. 
"With regard to the quantity of water passing over the falls, 
Br. Dwight has made the following calculation : Admitting 
the rate of the current to be six miles an hour, 1,225,108,800 
hogsheads are discharged in a day ; 102,092,400 in an hour ; 
1,701,540 a minute, and 28,359 in a second. The quantity 
necessarily varies a good deal with the condition of the 
atmosphere. Thus a violent wind, rolling the waters of 
Lake Erie into the Niagara, may produce an increase of two 
feet at the falls. Descending the course of the river on 
either shore for the space of a mile and a half, you reach the 
Suspension Bridge, represented on next page. Although 
the construction is similar to that of other bridges of the kind, 
yet its elevation above the waters, the absence of all inter- 
mediate support, and the savage aspect of the surrounding 
scenery, give it a particular character of boldness and light- 
ness. The workmen who built it remember well the wicker 
basket which transported four persons along the first cable, 
■ stretched from one shore to the other ; and they tell you 
that the first carriage launched upon this road, v/as driven 
full speed by an American, although the railing had not been 




QPNERAJ^ VIEW OF NIAGARA FALLS FROM THE CANADA SIDE. 



I 



GLEASON'S riCTOEIAL DRA^^XG ROOIM COMPANION. 



69 




THE SUSPENSION BRIDGE. 




put up. The railroad from Lewiston to Niagara passes the hridgc. This is another monument ot 
the unparalleled boldness of the Americans. To economize the purchase of land in an enteprise in 
which the first funds were inconsiderable, they had the courage to lead the iron road along the ex- 
treme verge of the gigantic shelves of rock which compress the river. There is one place where a 
fissure, produced by the caving away of a rock, extends for about a foot and a half below one of the 
rails, which thus bestrides a precipice. To see the trains running along the brink of these abysses 
is enough to give one the vertigo ; but to make the passage 
yourself — to pass over the cavity alluded to, is to experience 
to what point, for the sake of pleasure or curiosity, one can 
sport with the chance of an inevitable death. Near the 
Suspension Bridge an easy road conducts carriages and foot 
passengers to the steamboat landing, whence the Maid of 
the Mrst starts several times a day, to run along the two 
steep banks of the river, passing into the volumes of vapor 
thrown off by the cataracts, and drenching the passengers 
for a moment like a rain storm. This is the unavoidable 
baptism of every new comer, before experience has revealed 
the necessity of seeking shelter before approaching the 
American Fall. After having hugged it very close, the 
steamer pursues its course along the lower banks of Iris 
Island, and approaches the curve of the great fall. Under 
the impulse of powerful machines it struggles for a moment 
to keep its place near the boiling limits beyond which its 
fate would be instant and inevitable. On a sea of foam, 
stirred to the very bottom of its abysses, it bows, rises, and 
inclines again ; but soon the cuiTent seizes it and hurls it to 
a distance with an invincible strength, the impetus of which 
cannot be overcome, till it approaches the road leading up 
to the Clifton House, where travellers usually land. To 
reach the great fall from this side, you skirt uninterrupted 
the steep brink of the precipice which leads to Table Rock. 
Successive crumblings away of the rock have profoundly 
modified the form of this platform, whose projection, as we 
have explained, forms the arch which allows you to pene- 
trate behind the great fall. In 1818, a surface 160 feet long, 
and 30 or 40 wide, detached itself, fortunately in the midst 
of the night. Other less considerable slides occurred in 
1828, 1829, and 1850. No sort of precaution is taken to 
prevent accidents. Profound fissures furrow, in different 
places, what still remains of this gigantic mass, and yet, with 
incredible carelessness, hundreds of curious people every 
day crowd and bend over the abysses to procure themselves 
the fascination of the vertigo. It is from the height of the 
hill surmounted by Table Rock that the eye embraces the 
most complete and striking panorama of the cataracts. In 
1837, a steamboat (the Caroline), used to furnish supplies to 
the insurgent Canadians, was taken by the British at Chip- 




TIIE LIGHTHOUSE. 



pewa, and abandoned, all on fire, to the Rapids. It was night. She crossed, like a fiery meteor, 
the whole of that vast arena of reefs which lier passage lighted up. Five or six unfortunate persons, 
concealed on board, were said to have been swept away by tliis floating conflagration. The fiery 
crater was launched into the cataracts and extinguished like a spark in the crater of the waters. 
From which ever side you examine the great fall, you perceive on the left side of the Horse Shoe, a 
solitary and motionless tower, which like a lighthouse rises above the very edge of the abyss in 

which it seems about to sink each moment. To reach it 
you must cross the beautiful Iris Island, that oasis of calm, 
freshness and shade in the troubled desert of the rapids. 
You descend on the side of the great fall, and advance along 
a footway called Terrapin Bridge, which from rock to rock 
reaches the base of the tower. The Prospect Tower is only 
called Lighthouse from analogy, for no other light but 
that of cigars was ever kindled tliere that we know of. It is 
a sort of stone watch-tower, 45 feet high, enclosing only a 
spiral staircase, and sujiporting on its summit a circular 
wooden gallery, whence the eye embraces all the surround- 
ing details, and plunD:es into the very heart of the terrible 
Horse Shoe. Around its base, rocks have been rolled by 
the force of the currents ; some have disappeared in the 
gulf, and others ai'C threatening to sink every hour. The 
American Fall, though sublime, inclines to the beautiful; 
while the Canadian Fall, though beautiful, is characterized 
by an overpowering sublimity. On the American side, the 
water power is immense, and easily available. The river 
at the falls is a little over three-fourths of a mile wide, but 
below, it is immediately compressed to less than one-fourth 
of a mile wide, and, as ascertained by sounding, is about 
250 feet deep. About two miles below the falls the river Is 
comparatively smooth, and thence to Lewiston it flows with 
amazing rapidity. While the river makes a constant descent, 
the banks have a gradual ascent for six miles ; and some 
have supposed that the falls have receded from Queenstown 
to their present situation ; but they are known now to occupy 
the same situation that they did 200 years since. About two 
miles below the falls on the American side, is a mineral 
spring, containing sulphuric and muriatic acids, lime and 
magnesia, useful in scrofulous, rheumatic, and cutaneous 
complaints. One mile further down is a terrihc whirlpool, 
almost as tremendous as the Mxlsti'om of Norway, where 
logs and trees are wdiirled round for days in its outer circles, 
and finally drawn down perpendicularly with great force, 
and shot out again at the distance of many rods. The num- 
ber of visitors at the falls is from twelve to fifteen thousand 
annually, and is continually increasing. The fashionable, 
the opulent, and the learned here congregate in the summer 
season from all parts of the civilized world. 









VIEW OF THE GRAND RAPIDS AND THE HORSESHOE. 



70 



GLEASON'S PICTOllTAL DP.AWING ROOM COI\IPANI()N. 



[Written for Gleiwon'H Pictorial.] 
O COME NOT TO ME. 

INSCIIIBED TO MI3S E. HICKS. 

BY JOHN D. JOHNSON, M. D. 

ccmio not to me, If thou scok'at for a namo 
That 'h hi'ightly omhlazonod on tho annal of famo | 
That's wiifted afar on the voice of tho crowd, 
And worshipped in state at its shrino by tho proud. 

But como thou to mo, if thou fligh'at for a namo 
That'.', chcriHhod in hoart.4 hy alTcctlon's mild Ilamo; 
That's whispered in softness by lips that arc near, 
And worshipped in silence by those that ai-o dear. 

como not to mc, if thou long'st for a face 
That 'b moulded in beauty, and tempered by gi-uce ; 
Or a tongue, whose soft cadence shall fall on tho car 
As softly, as sweetly, as perfumes ou air. 

But flee thou to mo, if thou wish for a face, 
Where each feeling that springs from the heart finds a place ; 
Whore tho tongue is not wanted its love to deelare, 
For a glance on that face tells thee all that is there. 

come not to mo, if wealth is your wish, 

1 have not, I care not, for wealth such as this ; 
The gold that I offer is mined from tho heart, 
If that will not buy thee, wo better had part. 

come not to me, if the world you would roam, 
The world that encircles my footsteps is " home ;" 
Though yours full of sunshine and beauty may bo. 
Still mine has most sunshine and beauty for me. 

the love that I offer, like the plant that is seen, 
Does not shrink from tho winter, but blooms " ever-green ;" 
The leaves will not scatter, the veins will not ehill, 
Then come not to me, unless such you can feel. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

ISABELLA. 

EY EVA MILFORD. 

" A FOREIGN lady "wishes to see you, madam, 
and bid me give you this letter," said my ser- 
vant, interrupting a dreamy summer reverie 
■which I was indulging in ray favorite garden- 
seat. 

I sighed " dear!" and took the letter; but 
my eyes lighted up as I recognized the hand- 
writing of a dear and valued cousin who had 
some years previously married a Spanish senor, 
and followed him to his native land. The en- 
velope was unsealed, and contained a slip of pa- 
per and a bulky letter ornamented with my cou- 
siu's well-known seal. I took up the billet first, 
which contained merely these words: 

." Will my very dear cousin extend a helping 
hand to this poor exile from home, and love, and 
hope ? She speaks very little English ; but you 
learned Spanish with mc, and was once quite 
fluent. Tou will find Isabella di Eibas's story in 
the accompanying letter ; but you may safely be- 
friend her without reading it." 

I at once rose to go into the house, unwilling 
to keep the senora -waiting longer, and relying 
implicitly upon my cousin's recommendation. 

As I entered the drawing-room without much 
noise, I saw the senora standing before a copy of 
Raphael's most lovely Madonna; her hands 
clasped, her eyes swimming in tears, and her 
lips moving rapidly though noiselessly. I knew 
that she was invoking the aid of the Mother of 
God, and I respected her faitli, although my own 
religious views were so widely different. I 
stepped back into the hall, and moved a ehair 
somewhat noisily to herald my approach. It 
had the desired effect, for, as I again entered the 
room, the melanclioly face had acquired a calm 
and dignified expression, and the hastily wiped 
eyes were expectantly fixed upon the door. I 
hastened to extend my hand, and to say in 
Spanish : 

" The friend of my cousin is most welcome to 
my house." 

The color flashed almost proudly into the pale 
face as my guest answered in a low rich voice. 

" I do not presume to call myself the friend of 
the noble Senora di Garcia; but she has been a 
kind and constant benefactress to mc, and I am 
grateful." 

"Iknow that my cousin is as discerning as 
she is kind," said I, "and that one of whom she 
speaks so highly as she does of you, must be one 
whom it will be a pleasure to me to assist. But 
tell me," continued I, as she did not seem in- 
clined to speak, "what can I at present do for 
you V 

The color again suffused that face, whose 
natural complexion was a pale olive ; but she 
re]ilicd firmly : 

" I am dependent, senora, on my own exer- 
tions for my daily bread, and the greatest benefit 
which you can confer will be to give mc the 



means of earning it. In hap])ior hours I spent 
much time in delicate embroidery, anrl I liavo 
considerable skill, I believe. I also can draw, 
and I can speak French as well as a native 
and — " 

But licr voice, which had laltercd during the 
last sentence, Iiero failed her altogether; and 
covering Iier face, she burst into a passionate 
flood of tears. I was most sincerely grieved at 
her distress, and sat down hy her, saying some 
sootliing words, and wondering in my own heart 
what -was her history, and how I should relieve 
this tori-ent of grief. But she recovered licr 
equanimity almost as soon as .she had lost it; 
and, wiping her eyes, she raised them to mine, 
saying, with a melancholy smile, as she rose 
to go: 

" Pardon mc, senora. My nerves arc some- 
what over-wrought by excitement, and other 
things ; but I am calm now, and will trouble you 
no longer." 

I inquired her address, which was at a cheap 
boarding-house in a street of which I knew noth- 
ing but the name ; and, telling her that she 
should hear from me very soon, I i^ressed her 
hand and bid her adieu. 

That same evening, I dispatched a messenger 
to her with a bundle of fine needle-work, enclos- 
ing a liberal compensation, for some things in 
her appearance made mc fear that she was suf- 
fering for want. I also begged her acceptance 
of a few little dainties, which I judged would be 
more tempting to her appetite than the usual 
fare of a cheap boai-ding-house. This duty, for 
so I considered it, completed, I turned with eager 
interest to my cousin's letter, which was to give 
me the previous history of my new protege. It 
was in amount this : 

Maria di Ribas (the mother of Isabella), was 
the child of a noble but impoverished caballero 
of old Spain. Pier mother died at her birth, and 
her father closed his eyes during his only child's 
fifteenth summer, leaving her to the care of an 
aged grandmother. In less than a year from 
her father's death, the young and beautiful dam- 
sel had contracted a marriage with a young Por- 
tuguese officer, who was travelling to recniit his 
health, impaired by a severe wound. The ro- 
mantic girl was at once fascinated by the some- 
what pale face and languid eyes of the invalid, 
and tlie ami gracefully supported in a military 
seaif quite completed the conquest. The old 
song says : 

"Happy the wooing 
That 's not long a-doing." 

Certainly this was one of the speediest on record, 
for the young captain was forced to join his regi- 
ment ou the sixth day from that which first in- 
troduced him to the black eyes and rosy lips of 
Maria di Ribas. 

The poor old grandmother, almost in her 
dotage, could not keep watch of her lively 
charge, and entrusted her to a faithful duenna, 
but alas ! this ancient maiden had a tender heart, 
and could not resist the united fascinations of 
Maria's coaxing ways and the hoard of gold 
pieces of her lover. Thus the result was that in 
the dusk of the evening preceding the departure 
of Gonsalvez Diaz for Lisbon, the bewildered 
duenna accompanied her young mistress to a se- 
cluded church, where awaited them a joyful and 
impatient bridegroom. 

The old priest, whose mental vision was some- 
what obscured by the same golden medium 
which had so strongly affected the duenna, read 
the service hastily, conferred his blessing, and 
motioned to the young couple that all was finish- 
ed, and the sooner they were off the better. 
They turned and left the church door hand in 
hand. Adam and Eve quitting Paradise were 
not more friendless upon the face of the earth ; 
for Gonzalvez had no relations, and Maria had 
by her runaway match offended the few who re- 
mained to her. Her future home was her hus- 
band's barracks, her future associates, soldiers 
and soldiers' wives. 

With a slight sinking at the heart, the fair 
bride seated herself beside her husband in the 
carriage, which was to convey them the first 
stage of their long journey; but her lover hus- 
band's fond words and caresses soon restored 
the gay smile and thoughtless jest. They reach- 
ed the garrison town in which Diaz was quarter- 
ed, and commenced their matrimonial career — 
doomed, however, to bo a short one; for, after 
two months of bliss, such as both agreed could 
come but once in a life, a dispatch arrived from 
head-quarters ordering Captain Diaz to proceed 
at once with his regiment to Lorenzana, a small 
mountain town in the north of Portugal, which 
was the notorious head-quarters of a large troop 



of banditti, whose dcprcdation.s had become so 
bold and unscrupulous as to demand some at- 
tention from government. The parting caused 
the greatest soitow to both husband and wife — a 
sorrow augmented by the uncertainty of Captain 
Diaz's absence; but fate and commanders-in-chief 
are inexorable; and the best that the young hus- 
band could do was to place his beloved Maria in tlie 
family of tlic alcahh of the town, whose son was 
also a gallant captain, and the bosom friend of 
Gonsalvez Diaz. Tliis young man, at the young 
husband's earnest request, undertook the role 
of lirother and guardian to the " mourning bride," 
and engaged to watch over her as over his own 
sister; and, indeed, few brothers can boast of 
such unremitting attention to their sisters as was 
paid by Juan di Montejo to tiie fair wife of his 
friend. 

Month after month glided away, until the day 
after the anniversary of their departure, the dus- 
ty and travel-worn regiment of Captain Diaz en- 
tered the town, where lay centred all the young 
soldier's dearest hopes and emotions. Getting 
through the foi-malities imposed by martial eti- 
quette as quickly as possible, Gonsalvez rushed 
to the house of the alcalde, pushed aside the ser- 
vant (the" very duenna who had aided his mar- 
riage), and burst unannounced into the sfxla, 
where he expected to find his Maria. 

She was indeed there; but why does the gal- 
lant soldier who had forced the hottest front of 
battle with unquailing nerves % why does he 
now start and turn such a ghastly white ? and 
why is he forced to cling for support to that very 
door which a minute before he flung so impa- 
tiently open 'i Maria indeed was there ; and even 
in that agonized moment, her broken-hearted 
husband could not deny to himself that her beau- 
ty was more glorious than he had ever befoi'e 
seen it. But this consciousness was now but 
another drop of bitterness in the heart of the 
wretched husband. Maria was before him seat- 
ed upon a low eoueh, but ! beside her, his arms 
around her waist, his head resting upon her 
bosom, and his whole attitude one of assumed 
and reciprocal love, sat the brother, the guardian, 
the trusted and beloved friend ! Gonsalvez stood 
before them as though turned to stone, with an 
expression upon his fine face of mingled anguish 
and rage, such as no limner has ever depicted. 

Maria was the first to recover life and motion, 
and w^ith an hysterical sob she rushed from the 
room, her husband's steady gaze pursuing her. 
The scene that followed was brief, stern, and 
soldier-like. No time was lost in useless recrimi- 
nation; with men of that nation and profession, 
there ^vas but one course open, and in five min- 
utes from the time wdien Gonsalvez Diaz, a joy- 
ful and impatient husband, had rushed into the 
house, he left it with twenty years upon his brow, 
and the anguish of death gnawing at his heart. 

The meeting was arranged to take place at 
sunset, outside the walls of the town, and thither, 
after providing himself with a friend, who took 
the management of the affair upon his ovra. 
shoulders, the husband turned his steps to hold a 
brief communion with his own heart. But the 
effort to think was a bootless one — he could biit 
fed, and this he did with an intensity such as few 
people are cursed with a capability for. 

At the appointed hour the false friend appear- 
ed with the seconds, and accompanied by the 
regimental surgeon. The combat was short ; a 
guilty conscience performed its work upon the 
skilful hand of Montejo, and after a very few 
passes, his sword flew from his hand, and he lay 
disarmed at his enemy's feet. Gonsalvez raised 
his sword to plunge it into the heart of his ene- 
my, but just as the fatal point was about to ful- 
fil its message of death, a nobler thought entered 
the mind of the injured husband. He thrust his 
sword again into its scabbard, and turning con- 
temptuously away, he said : 

" Take your life, and try to improve it. I will 
not sully my sword with the blood of a traitor to 
honor and friendship." 

An hoiu* afterward, the wretched and guilty 
Maria received the following letter from her 
husband : 

" We have met for the last time. Of my feel- 
ings, of the utter desolation, the living death 
which you have brought upon a heart entirely 
devoted to you, I wdll say nothing. Your own 
conscience in your hours of solitude will suggest 
all that I might say. Nor do I hold myself en- 
tirely without blame ; I beguiled you from your 
home, firmly believing, it is true, that I could 
make your life happier than it had ever been; 
this was wrong; but could I have been with you, 
all might still have been well ; hut ! fool and 
idiot that I was, to entrust you to another's care. 



But enough of these idle regrets. At sunrise 
to-moiTOW my servant will wait at your door 
with means of conveyance to your native city, 
where, I believe, your grandmother is still alive. 
Tell lier from mc that you can no longer be my 
wife, and I have returned you to that home from 
wliich I should never have taken you." 

Maria shed many tears over this last memo- 
rial of a husband whom she had so fondly loved; 
but it was a relief to her to know that she should 
not see him again ; she could not bear tho 
thought of again meeting that clear stern eye 
which had followed her exit from the room when 
she last saw Gonsalvez. Ilcr preparations were 
soon made, and at the appointed hour she com- 
menced, accompanied only by the taciturn Pedro, 
to retrace that path, which but little more than a 
year before she had pursued, as a happy bride, 
accompanied by a loving husband. Upon the 
third day from that in which this sad joumcy 
was commenced, Pedro returaed to his master, 
who inten'ogated him with a look which Pedro 
understood as well as words, 

"Senor," said he, "all went well through the 
fir.st day, and until noon of the second, wdicn 
I stopped at a little inn to feed the mules, and 
rest the senora. Just as she was entering the 
house, however, a caballero, mounted on a large 
black horse, overtook us. He leaped from his 
horse and took the senora's hand, then he wliis- 
pered to her, and she to him, and then he bid 
me return. I asked the senora if such was her 
wish, and she trembled and wept, but at last 
said, 'Yes, good Pedro, go;* and the caballero 
offered me gold, which I did not take, and I 
returned." 

" Did you know this caballero, Pedro '?" 

" Yes, senor." 

" And what is his name V 

" Don Juan di Montejo, senor." 

" Very well, Pedro, you may leave me," said 
Gonsalvez, in an unfaltering voice. 

From this period, the unhappy Maria's fate 
was wretched indeed. She lived for a few years 
with her seducer, who had obtained a discharge 
from his military service. During this period, 
two children were born — Isabella, who was the 
means of my knowing this sad history, and a 
sister, who happily for herself died in infancy. 
When this event occurred, the miserable mother 
looking upon it as a warning and punishment 
for her evil life, I'ctired to a convent, where she 
soon after died, living, however, to hear of the 
death of her husband on the field of battle, and 
of the marriage of Juan di Montejo. 

His wife was a stem cold woman, who held 
the little Isabella responsible for the error of her 
birth, and treated her accordingly. She had 
children of her own, to whom Isabella was a 
servant, and she was fast sinking into a mere 
household dnidge, when an event occurred which 
changed her whole destiny. 

It was her twentieth birthday, and Isabella 
had been invited with her sisters to attend a large 
ball at the house of a rich merchant in the town 
where the family then lived. By some singular 
freak of good nature in her step-mother, Isa- 
bella was permitted for the first time to partici- 
pate in the recreations of which her t^vo sisters 
were so fond. 

This ball had been given by the Senor and 
Senora di Contreras, to celebrate the return of 
the young Alonzo to his native city. He had 
for some years pursued his studies at the univer- 
sity of Salamanca, and had now returned to 
assist his father in the complicated duties of his 
large mercantile establishment. He was hand- 
some, talented, witty, gay ; what wonder, then, 
that my poor Isabella at once pronounced him, 
to her own heart, the most agreeable and love- 
able man she had ever seen. So also concluded 
the stately Dorothea, ivho, although four years 
the junior of Isabella, had seen far more of the 
world, and that interesting class of its inhabi- 
tants — gay young men, than Isabella had ever 
dreamed of. 

Very much to Dorothea's astonishment and 
indignation, however, Alonzo di Contrei-as paid 
his exclusive attention to the despised and neg- 
lected elder sister, and certainly Isabella's 
handsome features, lighted up with an unwonted 
expression of happiness, far outshone the more 
insipid and artificial beauty of her sister. 

The petted and indulged Dorothea was almost 
sick with anger and disappointment, and hardly 
waited to arrive at home before she poured out 
upon the hapless Isabella the full measure of her 
indignation. In this she was joined hy her mo- 
ther, who assured Isabella that it was the last 
time of her appearing in public, and that if the 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



71 



young man should call at the house, she need 
not expect to sec him. 

Alonzo did come, as indeed he had assured 
Isabella he should do, and very fortunately came 
when the Senora di Moutcjo and her daughters 
were making a visit, so that for t\YO hours the 
young couple talked, and looked, and loved ; 
for, in that sunny clime, love is a plant of rapid 
growth. And when, at the entrance of the other 
ladies, Alonzo took a ceremonious leave, he had 
declared to the timid girl his passion, and ex- 
torted an acknowledgement that she could be 
happy with him for life, if his parents could be 
brought to consent. But this was a very diflfer- 
ent undertaking from what the sanguine lover 
had promised. The father would not by any 
means consent, and raved and stormed like one 
mad at the idea of his only son — his future heir 
and head of his ancient family— making such a 
misalliance ; and, to iinish all, the proud old don 
waited upon the father of Isabella, and a very 
stormy interview occurred, the result of which 
was, that Isabella, after being soundly scolded by 
father, step-mother and sisters, had begged of 
her parents to furnish her with funds sufficient 
to carry her to America, and to suffer her to for- 
ever relieve them of her presence. 

This plan was finally acceded to, and in a few- 
weeks tlie poor lovely young thing was tossing 
upon the wild ocean waves, bound for a new 
world, to which her only introduction was my 
cousin's letter. 



Several days elapsed after my perusal of poor 
Isabella's stoiy, and I was meditating a visit to 
her retreat, when she was sho\\Ti into the room 
where I was seated. 

But I hardly recognized in the handsome face, 
beaming with joy and hope, the pensive, mourn- 
ful features which I had before seen. Taking 
my extended hand, she fervently kissed it, and 
burst into tears — tears of joy this time, and flow- 
ing from an excess of happiness. I hastened to 
ask what had occurred to give her so much 
pleasure, and finally gathered, amidst her tears 
and joyful exclamations, that, on the previous 
evening, as she sat weeping bitterly in her 
chamber, she was told that a gentleman wished 
to see her, and on descending, he had proved to 
be Alonzo — her own dear Alonzo ! 

It appeared that after Isabella's departure, the 
young man had fallen into a very melancholy 
condition, in fact, had fretted himself quite ill, 
and that finally by working on his doting mo- 
ther's feelings, who in turn influenced his father, 
he had at last obtained their consent to embark 
for America, where the Senor di Contreras had 
a flourishing branch establishment, of which 
Alonzo was to take charge. 

The parents also consented to the only wish 
of his heart — a marriage with Isabella, but only 
on condition that, in her destitution and. despair, 
she had done nothing to sully in her own person 
that name which her mother had so feaifully 
compromised. 

Alonzo had fearlessly given this promise, and 
his trust was not misplaced. A few weeks more 
(which, by the way, were spent by the young 
lady at my house), and the gay and smiling 
Senora di Contreras had forgotten completely 
the sorrows of Isabella di Ribas; and she, her 
husband and a little year old fairy, are at this 
moment one of the happiest firailies ot my 
acquaintance. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
ATTEND.UVT ANGELS. 



BY W. i. FOGG. 

Angel forms are round mo ever, 

Sweetly on me smiling ; 
And from earth's dim patliwi^) never 

Cease they their beguiling. 

When the rich, effulgent hght 

Of the day is beaming ; 
"When, far througla the shadowy night, 

Stai-ry worlds are gleaming : 

When the happy hours of life 

Speedily are flying ; 
And when they with grief are rife, 

When the loved are dying : 

Ever to my cup of joy. 

Add they more of gladness ; 
And within my soul destroy 

Every trace of sadness. 

Thus are angels round me ever 

Sweetly ou me smiling ; 
And from earth's dim pathway, never 

Cease they their beguiling, 

Fools and obstinate people make lawyers rich. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
HU3IBLE WORTH. 

BY JOSEPH COMER. 

Tell me not that he 's a poor man, 

That his dress is coarse and bare ; 
Tell me not his dfiily pitt;ince 

Is a workman's scanty fare. 
Tell me not his birth is humble, 

That his parentage is low : 
Is he honest in his actions ? 

This is all I want to know. 

Is his word to be relied on ? 

Has his chai-acter no blame ? 
Then I care not if he 's low born, 

Then I ask not whence he came. 
Would he from an unju.st action 

Turn away with scornful eye? 
Would he, than defraud another, 

Sooner on the scaffold die ? 

.Would he spend his hard-gained earnings 

On a brother in distress? 
Would he sooner the Jifflictcd, 

And the weak one's wrongs redress ? 
Then he is a man deserving 

Of my love and my esteem ; 
And I care not what bis birthplace 

In the eye of man may seem. 

Let it be a log-built hovel, 

Let it be a thatched and clay-built cot ; 
Let it be a conmion poor-house. 

In my eye it matters not. 
And if others will disown him, 

As inferior to their caste, 
Let them do it — I befriend him, 

As a brother, to the last. 

IXTERESTIiVG IIVClDEiNT. 

A day or two ago, T. F. Meagher, in company 
with Commodore Daniels, of Baltimore, and his 
friend P. J. Smyth, visited the navy yard, and 
went on board the American ship-of-war Inde- 
pendence, lying out in the stream. He was re- 
ceived very courteously by Commodore Morgan, 
who showed him all through the ship, enter- 
tained him at lunch, and off"ered him the use of 
one of his boats at any time he wanted it. Mr. 
Meaglier being introduced to the officers, one of 
them, on liearing the name, said he thought he 
met him in company with a Mr. Smyth in the 
Mediten-anean, in 1S49. Mr. Meagher said it 
was impossible; but on some explanation, it 
turned out to be his brother. The officer then 
passed a high eulogy on that gentleman, and 
said he would never forgot his attention and de- 
votion to a brother officer, Lieutenant Bayard, 
of Philadelphia, who had been scorched by the 
burning lava in an eruption from Vesuvius, and 
had died from the eflects. Young Meagher at- 
tended his bedside, on board of the ship, for five 
daj'S and nights, without undressing or going to 
bed, till the poor fellow died. So much did the 
oflicers admire his conduct tliat his name be- 
came a household word on board, and there- 
fore, not only on Iiis own account but his broth- 
er's, Mr. Meagher was a welcome guest on board 
the Independence. He mot among the oflicers 
one or two college mates, who were delighted to 
see him. In fact, all were rejoiced to make his 
acquaintance. — Boston Pilot. 



BARBERS. 

He that is old enough to remember the reign 
of Puvilio and Pomatum, now utterly passed 
away, will do justice to tlie former dignity and 
importance of these practitioners. When a cush- 
ion reposed amid the umbrageous labjTlnth of 
every female head, into which pins of nine inches 
long were thrust to support the intricate expan- 
sion of her outfrixzod hair, while the artist busily 
plied his puff, surcharged with Marechale or 
brown powder, redolent of spice; — when every 
gentleman's sconce was wavy with voluminous 
and involuted curls, and he sat daily in his pow- 
dering room, then an indispensable apartment, 
gazing through the horny eyes of his mask upon 
his putting decorator, dim amid tlie cloud of dust 
as the Juno of Ixion ; when all this complicated 
" titivation " was to be incurred with aggravated 
detail before every dinner-party or ball — then 
was the time when the barbers, like the celestial 
bodies, which have great gloi-y and little rest, 
were harassed and honored, tipped and torment- 
ed, coaxed and cursed. — Horace Smith. 



SLEEP. 

The most violent passions and excitements of 
mind cannot preserve even poweiful minds from 
sleep ; thus Alexander the Great slept on the 
field of Arbela, and Napoleon upon that of Aus- 
terlitz. Even stripes and torture cannot keep off 
sleep, as criminals have been kno^Ti to sleep on 
the rack. Noises which at first serve to drive 
away sleep, soon become indispensable to its ex- 
istence ; thus a stage-coach stopping to change 
horses, wakes all the passengers. 

The proprietor of an iron forge, who slept 
close to the din of hammers, forges and blast- 
furnaces, would awake if there was any interrup- 
tion to them during the niglit; and a sick miller, 
who had his mill stopped on that account, passed 
sleepless nights until the mill resumed its usual 
noise. Homer, in his Iliad, elegantly represents 
sleep as overcoming all men, and even the gods, 
except Jupiter alone. — Mackniffht. 



TEST OF A FRENCini.\N. 

The oflice and duty of the poet is to select the 
most dignified as well as 

"The gayest, happiest attitude of things." 

The reverse — for, in all cases, a reverse is possi- 
ble — is the appropriate business of burlesque and 
travesty, a predominant taste for which has al- 
ways been deemed a mark of a low and degraded 
mind. When I was at Rome, among many other 
visits to the tomb of Julius II., I went thither 
once with a Prussian artist, a man of genius and 
great vivacity of feeling. As we were gazing ou 
Michael Angelo's Moses, our conversation turn- 
ed on the horns and beard of that stupendous 
statue ; of the necessity of each to support the 
other ; of the superhuman eft'ect of the former, 
and the necessity of the existence of both to give 
a harmony and integrity both to the image and 
the feeling excited by it. Conceive them re- 
moved, and the statue would become ;(??-natural, 
without being K^pez-natural. We called to mind 
the hoi'us of the rising sun, and I repeated the 
noble passage from Taylor's Holy Dying. That 
horns were the emblem of power and sovereignty 
among the eastern nations, and are still retained 
as such in Abj-'ssinia, the Achelous of the ancient 
Greeks ; and the probable ideas and feelings, 
that originally suggested the mixture of the hu- 
man and the brute fonn in the figure, by which 
they realized the idea of the mysterious Pan, as 
representing intelligence blended with a darker 
power, deeper, mightier, and more universal 
than the conscious intellect of man — than intelli- 
gence ; — all these thoughts and recollections 
passed in procession before our minds. My 
companion, who possessed more than his share 
of the hatred which his countrymen bore to the 
French, had just observed to me, " a Prench- 
man, sir, i^ the only animal in the human shape 
that by no possibility can lift itself up to religion 
or poeti-y ;" when, lo ! two Freucii officers of dis- 
tinction and rank entered the church ! " Mark 
you," whispered the Prussian, "the first thing 
which those scoundrels would notice — for they 
will begin by instantly noticing the statue in 
parts, without one moment's pause of admiration 
impressed by the whole — will be the horns and 
the beard. All the associations which they will 
immediately connect with them will be those of 
a he-goat and a cuckold." Never did man guess 
more luckily. Had he inherited a portion of the 
great legislator's proplietic powers, whose statue 
we had been contemplating, he could scarcely 
have uttered words more coincident with the re- 
sult ; for, even as lie had said, so it came to 
pass. — Coleridge's Literary Biography. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
LINES OA THE LATE HON. lUDIVRY CLAY. 



BY J. ALFORD. 

To him, who calmly for his death prepares. 
Come when it will, it comes not unawares I 
* * » * * # 

Here rests in peace that which is and ever was ! 

Sage precept useful lessons may impart, 

But 'tis example which best guides the heart; 

A name to the United States most dear, 

Claims from their sons a tributary tear. 

His noble feeling, to no sect confined, 

Within its sphere encircled all mankind ; 

Hence all who know his value, must deplore 

The loss sustained — their Clay is now no more. 

Each bard tears off the bay-wreath from his head, 

And wears the solemn cypress in its stead ; 

Emblem of grief unfeigned, of true concern, 

Best suited to liis much lamented urn. 

For amity, that no cold medium knew, 

For generous worth, that scorned a sordid view, 

Joined with true pnictised power and studious zeal. 

He labored nobly for his country's weal ; 

But now he 's sunk on earth's insensate breast, 

His heart, and all its social ardors rest. 

Then let us deign to shed, who stay behind, 

One tear, the tribute of a grateful mind ; 

The lc;ist demand his sterling worth can claim, 

For leaving to mankind a virtuous ftune. 

Yet why should nature's frailty- drop a tear? 

'T is surely sin to mourn his envied bier ; 

Since HcaTeu decrees that he should hence remove. 

To share that bliss which only good men prove. 



High stations tumult, but no bliss create, 
None think the great unhappy but the great. 



FRUITS AKB FLOM'ERS IN FRANCE. 

The production of rose-bushes is in France a 
positive trade. Their exportation, which com- 
menced in 1770, has gone on increasing ever 
since. The environs of Paris alone produce a 
million of francs' worth. Four million of francs 
of flowers of all sorts are sold every year at the 
various flower-markets, independently of those 
taken by the government for its official festivities. 
Paris pays two million a year ibr its strawberries ; 
and 1250 acres of the surrounding country are 
devoted to their culture. Epernay, near St. 
Denis, is now sending every day to England five 
hundred francs' worth of asparagus. Harfiim-, 
on the coast, furnished a million of francs' worth 
of melons, last season, to the city of London 
alone. Horticulture is becoming such an im- 
portant branch of national industry, that the two 
Parisian societies — La Nationate and La Centrale 
— exert themselves zealously to bring the o:arden- 
er's art to still greater perfection. — Flared Maga- 
zine. 

« ^-»i » 

The proudest motto for the young I 

Write it in lines of gold 
Upon thy heart, and in thy mind 

The stin-ing words enfold : 
And in misfortune's dreary hour, 

Or fortune's prosperous gale, 
'T will h-iTe a holy, cheering power — 

"There's no such word as fau,!" 

Alice G. Lee. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
LETTERS. 

BY EDWARD ASUTOX. 



Aflection^s caskets, which unfold 

The richest treasures of the heart ; 
5Iore precious than the purest gold, 

Or richest specimens of art. 
Remembrancers of days past by, 

Of ideal hours of happiness ; 
Of loved ones gone — the mild, blue eye. 

The rosy cheek and auburn tress. 

how I love to trace the lines, 

Teeming with friendship's offeiinga ; 
Bright, sparkUng gems from spirit-mines, 

Sweet draughts from never-failing springs. 
And in my dark and gloomy hours. 

Most cheerful, soothing friends they are ; 
Stremng my path with summer flowers, 

And gilding night irith many a star. 

they are bright-winged messeugers, 

Commissioned for the shores of time ; 
To breathe to us the thought that stirs 

To purer love, and wakes a chime 
Of sweeter spirit-music. Yea, 

The visible impress of the soul 
They arc to loved ones far away, 

Holding o'er life a glad control. 

What wonder, then, I prize them so? 

To me a world of joy they seem ; 
Imprinted with the radiant glow 

Of beauty, from some angel-dream. 
And thus I treasure them as gifts, 

From kindred spirits, to my o^vn ; 
Whose presence, for the moment, lifts 

Sle from a beggar to a throne. 

BLACK AND WHITE. 

Jefferson noted seventeen points of diflerence 
between the black and the white man. They 
differ in color, in their hah*, and in the shape of 
their bodies. The black man has more beard 
than the white man. He perspires more pro- 
fusely. Theie is a slight difference in the ar- 
rangement of the lungs, by which the black has 
more exhaling force than the white. The black 
man requires less sleep. His love is more ar- 
dent, but less imaginative than that of the white 
man. His grief is more transient. He reflects 
less. His reasoning powers are decidedly mfe- 
rior. His memory is equal to the white man's, 
but not his imagination, which is dull in the ex- 
treme. The black lias less originality. He has 
no turn for the arts of painting and sculpture. 
He has as good an car for music as the white 
man, but no skill in composing. And, lastly, the 
black has no poetical tendencies. — National Age. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 
ODE TO A3IERICA. 

Read be/ore the National ^hcsical Festival, at Washington. 



Br CHAELES HENRT STEWAET. 

Not in the pomp of pride, 

Not in the glare of state ; 
My native land, thy birth arose, 

A nation strong and great ; 
But fearless round thee flashed the light 

Of truth and freedom, mid the night ! 

When crown and crosier swayed. 
With steel, the craven ^torld; 

And waves of deep Cimmerian shade 
Around her confines curled ; 

The flower of freedom, from decay, 

Here blossomed In eternal day. 

Yes, land of the pilgrim throng I 

Land of the tyrant's fear 1 
Here first was swelled the freeman's seng, 

And dropped the freeman's tear. 
Soil of the pilgrim's holy band, 
My native land 1 my native land ! 

God of the battle-field ! 

Hearer of earnest prayer '. 
Thou once gav'st Washington, to shield 

Our cause from every snare ; 
Forever guide oui- ship of state 
Through all the adverse tides of fate ! 

0, keep — though glorious Rome, 

And Greece, ahis ! are dead I 
Crushed by the bloody wheels of wrong, 

That o'er their bosoms sped ! 
0, keep our nation proud and high, 
And span it with a cloudless sky ! 



A VALUABLE THIXG. 

"Which will you do — smile, and make your 
household happy, or be crabbed, and make all 
those young ones gloomy, and the elder ones 
miserable ! The amount of happiness you can 
produce is incalculable, if you show a smiling 
face, a kind heart, and speak pleasant words. 
Wear a pleasant countenance ; let joy beam in 
your eyes, and love glow on your forehead. 
There is no joy like that which springs from a 
kind act or a pleasant deed ; and you will feel it 
at night when you rest, at morning when you 
rise, and through tlie day wdien about your busi- 
ness. — Home Journal. 



It is madness to make fortune the mistress of 
events, because in herself she is nothing, but is 
ruled by prudonce. 



72 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAT. DRAWING ROOM COMPANION. 



*?/:^!k 










laS 










PROCESSION, AND GRAND RECEPTION OF THE HON. DANIEL WEBSTER IN BOSTON. 



GLEASON'S PICTORIAL DRAWING ROOM COIMPANION. 



73 



DANIEL WEBSTER AT HOaiE. 

Late political circumstances have had a ten- 
dency to bring out Mr. Webster's personal friends 
somewhat warmly in their demonstrations of 
feelings for him. The late celebration, which is 
so graphically delineated by our artist on this 
and the preceding page, was the occasion of 
Mr. Webster's return from AVashington, on a 
risit to his Massachusetts home. It was truly a 
magnificent affiiir, and was got up without re- 
gard to party lines at all. The line of the pro- 
cession, or escort of welcome, was formed at 
Koxbury and Boston junction, on Washington 
Street. The procession took up the line of 
march, amid the cheers of a large concourse of 
people, who liad assembled at that point, and the 
tiring of cannon in Roxbury and the Common. 
Mr. Webster was seated in an elegant carriage, 
drawn by six gray horses, from Seward's stable. 
The military escort consisted of a division of 
volunteer troops, under command of Maj. Gen. 
B. F. Edmands. This division was composed 
of twenty-five companies, who made a fine dis- 
play, exceeding anything of the kind that has 



Then came cavalcades of the citizens of Boston, 
Koxbury, Dorchester, Brigliton, Cambridge, 
Charlestown, etc.; following in the rear of the 
cavalcade was a large number of vehicles of 
every class and style. The cavalcade was the 
largest ever seen in Boston, and must have in- 
cluded more than one thousand horses. As the 
procession moved down Washington Street, the 
sidewalks, the windows and balconies of the 
houses were filled with spectatoi's, the animated 
and enthusiastic admirers of the great man 
who was honored by the occasion, while there 
was not the slightest demonstration of disrespect 
toward him, as we could discover, from any 
quarter. The cheering was vociferous, and 
numberless bouquets of the most beautiful flowers 
were thrown by fair hands into Mr. Webster's 
carriage, amounting in the aggregate to several 
bushels. The scene throughout the entire route 
was very imposing and beautiful, from the deco- 
rations and the brilliant arrayof ladies to be seen 
on either hand, with eyes and features radiant 
with the excitement of the occasion. Owing to 
tlie extreme heat of the day, the procession 



were debarred from witnessing the proud dis- 
play. The civic array was less brilliant, but 
hardly less impressive. The long line of foot- 
men and horsemen told of the deep and heartfelt 
admiration of the people for one who stands 
peerless among his fellows in all that constitutes 
intellectual greatness, and of the gratitude for 
the great and enduring services which he has 
rendered to tlieir common country. The pro- 
cession occupied about thirty-five minutes in pass- 
ing any given point. At about a quarter past 
six, Mr. Webster reached the platform on the 
Common. In front of the platfoi-m the militaiy 
were drawn up in line, and paid him a salute, 
which he acknowledged witli much satisfaction. 
In a few moments the stand was surrounded by 
an immense concourse of people. Hon. J. T. 
Stevenson then arose, and in a fine and eloquent 
address welcomed Mr. Webster to the hearts of 
his thousands of friends in Massachusetts ; to 
which Mr. Webster, rising amid a perfect tor- 
rent of applause, responded in a speech of 
exceeding interest, and rich in historical inci- 
dent of his own life, and the causes which had 



cheer was started which did not cease until he 
arrived at the Common, where it assumed the 
shape of one loud huzza of applause. The 
windows, too, along the whole route were crowd- 
ed with the loveliest of Boston fair. A beautiful 
wreath, thrown by a lady from the balcony of a 
house in Tremont Street, lodged upon Mr. 
Webster's head, where he wore it for some dis- 
tance. The enthusiasm among the mihtary was 
unbounded, and set at defiance all military nile 
and discipline. The men for the moment forgot 
they were in line, and joined in tlie one universal 
shout of welcome to the gallant defender of the 
Constitution. At every stoppage whicli the pro- 
cession made, it was more than the united force 
of a strong body of police, backed up by a dozen 
marshals on horseback, could do to keep the 
crowd from nishing to the carriage and shaking 
hands with Mr. Webster. We saw at one time 
at least a dozen hands hold of Mr. Webster's 
hand and ann — which was covered nearly to the 
elbow — and all shaking with a strength which 
showed the depth of the feeling which prompted 
the act. At several places along the route, the 




HON. DANIEL "WEBSTER S RECEPTION ON BOSTON COMMON. 



been witnessed in this city for a long time. We 
give the names of the different companies as they 
appeared in column : National Lancers, Wash- 
ington Artillery, Boston Artillery, Cowdin Pha- 
lanx, Columbian Artillery, Roxbury Artillery, 
Boston Light Guard, Pulaski Guard, New Eng- 
hind Guard, Eusilcers, Boston Light Infantry, 
Winthrop Light Guard, Washington Light 
Guard, Boston City Guard, Mechanic Riflemen, 
Charlestown City Guard, Cambridge City Guard, 
Lowell City Guard, Lowell Mechanic Phalanx, 
Wamesit Light Guard, Salem City Guard, 
Richardson Light Guard, Stoneham Light In- 
fantry, Boston Veteran Association. The mili- 
tary column was followed by Gen. John S. Tyler 
and his aids. Mr. Webster was accompanied by 
his son, Fletcher Webster, Esq., and by the Hon. 
Franklin Haven, and was escorted by the Inde- 
pendent Cadets. Immediately in the rear of 
Mr. Webster's barouche, came others, in which 
wire the committee of arrangements, Mayor 
Seaver and the officers of the City Government, 
the delegates to the Baltimore Convention, and 
invited guests. The Webster Association, bear- 
ing a handsome banner, and marshalled by Tol- 
nian Wiliey, Esq., came next, and was followed 
by a delegation of the citizens of Cambridge. 



moved very slowly, and refreshments were freely 
provided at ditferent points by liberal-minded 
persons, who dispensed them to the parched and 
thirsty individuals in the line wliile they were- 
marching, or when a temporary halt was made. 
The whole procession was a magnificent display, 
and when we take into consideration the extreme 
sultriness of the weather, and the voluntary, 
spontaneous character of the demonstration, we 
can truly say that no other man than Daniel 
Webster ever did or could receive such a splen- 
did token of regard from the citizens of Boston 
and of Massachusetts. The military portion of 
the cortege was especially brilliant. Its appear- 
ance when in motion was very striking. The 
rich uniforms and noble steeds of the cavalry, 
the shining bayonets and elegantly varied cos- 
tumes of the infantry, the brilliant uniforms of 
the superbly mounted general oflicers, whose 
mettlesome steeds caracoled and pranced along 
tlie streets, formed a beautiful scene ; whilst the 
bewitching strains of martial music, from nume- 
rous bands, resounded through the stately, high- 
walled streets, with a charm that drew willing 
listeners t)y thousands, and meeting the zephyrs 
as they floated from housetop to housetop, were 
wafted softly to the ears of thousands more who 



tended to identify him so closely with the great 
interests of the country. After the applause had 
subsided, there was a rush to personally greet 
the great statesman. The carriages were brought 
upon the ground, and Mr. Webster and his 
friends were escorted by the Lancers to the Re- 
vere House, whither a lai'ge crowd accompanied 
him, and upon his landing from his carriage, 
gave three more of those same cheers " for Dan- 
iel Webster." Mr. Webster bowed his ac- 
knowledgements and returned his thanks, say- 
ing, that the events of that day would be remem- 
bered to the latest day of his life. — Along the 
whole line of the procession, from Roxbury line 
to the Common, tbe streets and side-walks were 
one living mass of men and women. On no 
public occasion liavc we ever seen such a dense 
crowd in our streets. It was an interesting sight 
to sit in one of the carriages and gaze upon the 
mighty throng, composed of the gray-haired sire 
and ardent youth, the merchant, the trader, the 
professional man, and the hard-flsted, honest- 
hearted, hard-visagod laborer and artisan, and 
see them, all with one consent, rending their 
lungs to shout "three cheers for Daniel Web- 
ster." At the time the venerated foim of the 
l)atriot statesman was seen crossing the line, a 



carriages were stopped to allow the presentation 
of bouquets to Mr. Webster by the hands of some 
of our fair daughters. — Miss Frances Keller, a 
young lady of tbe Dwight School, presented Mr. 
Webster a bouquet in Washington Street. She 
was neatly attired in white, and wore upon her 
head a beautiful wreath. Mr. Webster received 
the gift with evident pleasure, and rising, called 
for three cheers for the " handsome young wo- 
men," which were given with a hearty good will. 
In Common Street, a little daughter of Mr. Otis 
Kimball, some three years of age, was carried to 
the carriage, and very gracefully handed a beau- 
tiful bouquet to Mr. Webster. He received it, 
and implanted a kiss upon the lips of the little 
one in return. In Tremont, Bedford and Sum- 
mer streets, similar scenes were enacted. While 
the procession was halting in Tremont Street, 
Father Taylor pressed his way to Mr. Webster's 
carriage, and greeting him most cordially, said ; 
"I hope you may live forever." Mr. Webster 
cordially returning tlie greeting, said : " I intend 
to live as long as I can, and I hope you and all 
other good men will live as long as you can, in 
order ttiat I may have your company." Our 
space will not allow the mention of some other 
incidents whicli occurred on the route. 



74 



GLEASON'S PICTOllIAL DRAWING I100:M COMPANION. 



[Written for OloaHon'n Pictorial.] 
THE WOODS. 



or josEPu a. dutleb. 



Thewoodfil tliowoodsl tUo Jark, gniun woods! 

How bwmtn'ul thoy Htiuul I 
Waving tliuir lofty baiiiiurH higii, 

Tho glory of our land. 
Ilomu of tlio foathorod iiiiristrois sweot, 

Wlioso aoiigs, at morn and ovon, 
Thrill thi-ougli the durk aisles all unscon, 

Liko angurs notes from heaven. 
Majestic as an army bravo, 

They stand in phalanx deep ; 
Embattled for the coming storm, 

Their sUitely watch thoy kcci). 
Tho woods I tho woods ! the noble woods I 

In gloomy gmndeur proud, 
Thoy lift their towering fronts, and speak 

Delianeo to tho cloud. 
The woods 1 tho woods ! the solemn woods I 

For contemplation made ; 
O when tho burning sun is high, 

How grateful is their shade ! 
The dark, green woods I the grand, old woods I 

"WTiero sounds the liuntcr's bow ; 
And swift as tlica the passing breeze, 

Eonncls forth the stately roe ; 
The red men from their hills of wind, 

All stalwort, fierce and brave. 
Encamp ai"ound their council fires. 

Or stem the blue lake's wave. 

Majestic nature builds her thi*one 

Amid the forest tree, 
Whose giant sons, in grandeur, list 

To the tempest's melody ; 
When autumn chants his thrilling dirgo 

Over the dying year. 
How beautiful the robes ye wear, 

How glorious ye appear ! 
The woods 1 the tall and hving woods ! 

I love, at evening hour. 
To watch the blessed stars shine through, 

Like eyes of magic power. 
The woods ! the woods I the mighty woods ! 

The bulwark of our land. 
When armed with thunder forth they ride. 

At liberty's command ; 
Beiiring our starry flag on high, 

To many a distant shore ; 
Startling old ocean's solitude 

With the dread cannon's roar. 
The woods I the woods ! the useful woods I 

By science taught to rise ; 
In many a pleasant home they stand, 

A shelter from the skies | 
The glory of our homes they are. 

The growth of ages past ; 
And ever may their stately sons 

Still battle mth the blast.. 



[Written for Gleason's Pictorial.] 

GEN. WINFIELD SCOTT. 

AN